


The Hounds of Change

by OkieDokieLoki



Series: The Wolves of Baskerville [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolves, F/M, M/M, Post-Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-09
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2019-01-31 04:15:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 50
Words: 99,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12674223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OkieDokieLoki/pseuds/OkieDokieLoki
Summary: The years following Sherlock's Turning and Sherrinford's rash decision have not been kind to the Lupus sapiens. Something needs to change, but can the Holmes Brother's keep their family secret and help the Wolves maintain their humanity?





	1. Prologue: The Rogue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello Everyone!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading Wolf's Blood (and if you haven't, please read Wolf's Blood first! Things will make more sense that way). It is probably one of my best-loved works and it has driven me to complete this sequel! Of course, being my biggest critic, I am not quite sure it's as awesome as Wolf's Blood, and I may still edit it, even after I post the thing wholesale. 
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading and I hope that you enjoy it!
> 
> OkieDokieLoki

He paced, his footsteps slapping against the hardened cement floor of his ‘home.’ _Five steps. Turn. Eight Steps. Turn. Five Steps. Turn. Eight Steps. Back to where we started._

  
The light that streamed into the darkened chamber came from the two windows. One hung above him on the wall, leaving a square, cut and bisected by what he knew to be metal bars over impenetrable glass, of sunlight on the floor. The second was smaller still. It was the observatory window in the heavy, iron and silver door to his home. His cell.

  
It had been designed especially for him. No other man entered it, and those that did took precautions. He had no chance of escape and no place to escape to. And yet, he felt strangled. Tags hung heavily about his neck, along with a thick leather collar. He raised a hand, uncut fingernails, cracked and broken, scraped across the raised skin on the back of his neck, jangling the tags, shifting the collar, and irritating the mechanical tracker that was placed there, under his skin, rubbing against his spinal column.

  
He growled, the sound echoing around him and reverberating about the stone and cement. He had figured that some form of retribution would come for him, but nothing like this. He had assumed that They would have put him down. They could have, three of them, all Alphas and much stronger than he was, could have ripped his throat out those five years ago. And yet, they had given him something far worse. They had given him this:

  
_A cell. A cot. A blanket. A toilet. Food, three times a day. Water, anytime. Clothes, new every two months. A collar, sewn shut. A new set of tags. A tracker. What generous gifts for Their rabid pet._

  
He growled again, the Wolf so close to the surface he could feel his skin bristle.

  
Oh, they were going to regret this, those Holmes Boys. They are going to wish that they had never stood in his way. Especially not now. Not now that he had a backer. A powerful ally. One that could take down the Holmes’. **Every last one**.


	2. Chapter 1: The Detective

“Careful!” he insisted, watching the young woman lift the pot of soup from the stove with a pair of too large oven mitts. She rolled her eyes at him and stuck out her tongue for good measure. He bit back a good-natured growl. It was becoming more difficult theses days to keep the Wolf from bleeding over into his human persona. He assumed that it was because he was getting older and even the slightest disagreement challenged his authority. _Ridiculous notion_ , he reminded himself. _I am the utmost authority on nearly everything_. John’s voice cut into his thoughts, reminding him, none-to-gently, that he shouldn’t raise himself onto a pedestal higher than the one that was already built for him. He sighed. His mate was right, as he usually was when it came to dealing with others.

  
Evelyn set the pot in the middle of the table without spilling a single drop. She beamed at him, quirking an eyebrow. “Yes, yes,” he exhaled. “You did a fine job, Evelyn. Your father will appreciate that you are learning to cook. It will save him some time.”

  
She laughed at him, knowing full well that it was his time and their collective stomachs that she was saving. He cooked when it was necessary ( _Week of the Full Moon, primarily. And when I make John angry, which is surprisingly often. Unless I’m on a case..._ ) and John could barely cook pasta without burning it. “You’re ridiculous, you know that, right, Uncle Sherlock?”

  
“Me? Ridiculous?” he snorted. “What a notion!” He stopped, his ears pricking up at the sound of John’s steady and reliable footsteps on the sidewalk. “Get the bread out of the oven before it burns. Your father’s home.”

  
Evelyn shook her head, used to seeing him freeze suddenly. She probably thought it was one of those strange ticks that everyone developed. A side effect to something or other that he had gotten into before she was born. She did know about his drug habit, Lestrade having run a drugs bust when he was babysitting one night while John was dating a rather horrid woman whom had instantly set him on edge. John came to his senses pretty quickly and the little girl did not judge him for his odd behaviors and he made no move to explain them.

  
John’s footsteps clunked up the stairs tiredly. The doctor had had a rather rough week: full days at the clinic had been compounded with a fight with Evelyn as well as his typical Full Moon. He sighed, rubbing his face before focusing on his mate as he walked into 221B. While they continued to live separately, their positions as mates within the Pack was acknowledged by everyone within their little family. “Welcome home, John,” he said pleasantly, his vestigial tail wagging embarrassingly within his trousers, making him glad that he was wearing his robe, hiding the oddment from the oblivious teenager in the room.

  
“Sherlock,” the man mumbled, pulling his coat and gloves off, stuffing the gloves into his pockets and hanging the coat on his hook by the door.

  
“Daddy!” Evelyn said enthusiastically, emerging from the kitchen to wrap her arms around his waist, snuggling close. She placed a kiss on his weathered cheek before adding, “How was your day?”

  
“Long,” the older man sighed, running a hand through his grey hair, no trace of blonde left. The wolf inhaled, comforted by the reinvigoration of the scent of gunpowder and wool. “I hate flu season.”

  
“I made dinner,” the girl said, stepping back. “Chicken soup and warm bread.”

  
The doctor stopped. “You...you made dinner?” he asked, blinking unbelievingly through his smile.

  
“Well, Uncle Sherlock helped, but yes, I made it.” The young woman was positively beaming, her warm scent of lilac, wool, crayon, grass and vanilla (a recent addition as she matured) mingling with her father’s unique fragrance, filling his home (Den) with the smells and sounds of home. _Happiness_.

  
“Well,” John’s weariness was pushed to the background as his thirteen year old tugged him towards the kitchen and the table laden with her labors. “I guess we should eat, then.”

  
The little family settled at their places, a single chair empty for Mrs. Hudson, who was away, visiting her sister for the week of the Moon, as usual. The clatter of spoons against mismatched bowls (Most of the original set had been defiled by his experiments), and the scrape of knives against warmed bread was joined with the satisfied silence of the three people who sat under the warm light. “So,” the father said, breaking the silence as the sounds of eating began to dwindle, “How was school?”

  
“Fine, Dad,” she replied nonchalantly.

  
His curiosity slightly peaked, the detective asked, “What are you studying at this rubbish school that your father insists you attend?”

  
“We’re studying modern history,” the girl said, taking a bite out of her bread before swallowing and continuing. “We’re going to begin to learn about Uncle Mycroft’s Law.”

  
Now he was truly curious. He cocked his head slightly, his multi-colored eyes focusing on the young girl. “Which one?”

  
“The Declaration of the Rights of Werewolf-kind,” she replied before taking another bite of bread.

  
He stiffened, inhaling sharply. “They teach _that_ at school now?”

  
John shrugged, looking worried, his eyes darting between the Wolf and his child. The detective continued, “That is such a small bit of our history. I don’t truly see why you should be wasting your time researching something that you and your classmates will never witness. _Werewolves_ are so rare that they are practically extinct in England. Fantasy really.” He snorted, trying to hide his growing wariness. The hair on the back of his neck was rising despite the fact that his logic insisted that he was not being threatened.

  
“But, Uncle Sherlock,” Evelyn said, putting her plate and bowl on the counter before sitting down again, “You’re the one who’s always telling me to keep exploring new things. How is this any different? And doesn’t Uncle Ford research werewolves? Surely he’s met a few.”

  
He grimaced. _Or every single one that exists in Britain as well as many on the continent_. “Yes, but his job is of little importance to anyone who isn’t a werewolf. And there are so few.” He stood, pushing his chair back, the hair on the back of his neck bristling at the notion that his secret, and that of his younger sibling, was going to be revealed to the little girl that they both deeply cared for. “Shouldn’t your teacher actually teach you something of importance? Like how to differentiate soil based on the amount of loam, silt, sand, and clay with in it? Or how about the _solar system_? Your father is always reminding me about how it’s important…”

  
“Why are you getting so worked up about this Uncle Sherlock?” Her voice was quiet, breaking his tirade. _She’s so bright…too bright_.

  
“Because,” he shot back defensively, “It is a waste of your time.” He set his jaw and set about clearing the table. The teenager, seeing his sudden and relatively inexplicable shift in his mood, excused herself to go upstairs and work on her school work. John smiled and thanked her for the dinner, though it was barely audible over his rather vicious scrubbing of the dishes.

  
“Sherlock,” the soldier hissed after his child had left, “You’re being rude - almost cruel!”

  
“Was I, John?” he growled low in his throat, whipping his head around to face the shorter man. “Because last I checked, you wanted her sheltered from all of this.”

  
“I can’t do anything if it’s part of her curriculum,” the doctor sighed. “She won’t connect it.”

  
“She will. You know it and I know it. All thanks to my idiot brothers.” He shook his head before admitting something he’d never say again. “I’m afraid, John.”

  
“I know,” the other man said, leaning comfortingly against his side. “We both are.”


	3. Chapter 2: The Veterinarian

“How are you doing today, Mr. Chatterpole?” he asked, bending over his newest patient’s file. The man who sat in the chair across from him was young, late-twenties, and had been Turning for five years. One of the last of St. Pierre’s Turns before they caught him.

  
It was difficult to imagine that his life was so different from what he’d thought it’d be when he’d returned to England eight years ago. Not that he was complaining in the slightest. He felt that he was doing good, atoning for the glaring misdeed that he had committed so early into his tenure on English soil, and he found that he really enjoyed helping people.

  
“Just call me Eddie, please,” the younger man said, shifting a bit in his chair. “Mr. Chatterpole’s my father.”

  
_Subordinate_ , he registered, the word popping out at him from the man’s medical charts as well as tickling his nose. _And a jumpy one at that_. He inhaled slowly, noting the rather excessive amount of sweat that the man was producing along with his natural scent of cotton and ‘scentless’ soap.

  
He smiled reassuringly. “Of course, Eddie. What seems to be the problem?”

  
“I’m still experiencing blackouts when...when...”

  
He completed the man’s sentence for him. “When you shift on the nights of the Full Moon?” _Still ashamed of what he is. Has kept it hidden, though not well. Family, neighbors, and coworkers suspect_.

  
The young man’s dirty blonde head nodded.

  
“Well,” Sherrinford said, leaning back in his chair and fixing the man in his gaze, “There are two options to help you remember what occurs. Both will only work if you trust me, and, more importantly, yourself and the wolf that you are.”

  
The blonde head shook back and forth vigorously. “I am not the wolf. He’s something else. That’s why I can’t remember…”

  
“No,” he intoned, adding a bit of Alpha to his voice, “You are the same. The sooner you accept that, the easier it will be for you to retain your memories and your common sense during the Moon.”

  
The younger man swallowed visibly. “What are my options?”

  
He waited to the man to meet his eyes before he began to write his prescription, keeping his eyes kind though his mouth was hard. “First, you should tell the person closest to you and invite them to share next month’s Moon with you. It can be either here, at Baskerville, or at your regular facility...” He scanned the files. “Ah, yes. Torchwood. Or,” he paused for dramatic effect, unable to resist, “You Turn more regularly. It is a myth that Turned wolves can only Turn on the Full Moon. If you trust yourself enough, find a secure location, lock yourself in, and force a Shift. The more time you spend as a wolf, the more in-control of your natural instincts you will become.”

  
“Neither. I don’t like either option,” the man said, shaking a bit.

  
He furrowed his brow and folded his hands on his desk. “Then I am sorry, Eddie, I cannot help you if you will not help yourself.”

  
“There’s no cure or pill or vaccine or something?” The man was becoming rather hysterical now.

  
“You have been living with this condition for five years now, Eddie,” he said quietly, calmly, trying to calm the man down. “It is unfortunate that it should happen to you, but it has happened and now we must deal with the consequences. Might I recommend a human doctor to you? I am only the Baskerville veterinarian. I am not well-versed in the medical needs of humans more so than you are. ( _Blatantly incorrect, but whatever_ ) This doctor, however, is a top general practitioner in London and he has had Lupus Sapiens patients before you ( _He is mated to one; my Alpha’s Mate_ ). He may know more on the subject than I do ( _He definitely does **not** know more about this than me_ ). Would you like me to do that?”

  
The young man nodded, his fear subsiding. _Of course_.

  
“Okay,” Sherrinford continued, “Here is his name and phone number. I am sure that he will get you sorted in no time.” He smiled, giving John Watson’s contact information to the younger man. “Please do check in with me following your next Moon, Eddie. I would love to hear how it goes.” _It’ll be the same as the last sixty-seven_.

  
The man shook his proffered hand and trudged from his office, the slip of prescription paper clasped in his hands like it was the only thing that was keeping him going. “I am _so_ sorry, John,” the youngest Holmes murmured as the man closed the door behind him and he sat down again.

  
Most of his patients were generally glad of his help, though none ( _Besides Sherlock_ ), were aware of his own genetic condition. He did not flaunt it and, when asked about his earthy scent ( _Wolf attribute_ ), he responded that it was due to his close proximity to Wolves on a regular basis. They believed that his knowledge came from his years of study on the continent before returning to the United Kingdom for veterinary school and he let them think that. His job here, on the moors at Baskerville, had made him feel like he was making up for his past mistakes. Many of the Turned came here for the Full Moon, and the facilities were well-equipped, all to his standards.

  
His original thirty were here. They had all grow into their furry forms well and had even been given a special yard for their thirty-person Pack to roam about when they Turned together, their territory covering the better part of five acres. Other similar Packs had begun to form and some Wolves had even begun to bring their loved ones, making the entire experience much less traumatic. One even transformed in a slightly modified apartment with his family petting and playing with him, as Evelyn did with Sherlock.

  
It had all begun seven years ago, when he had taken his position as the Baskerville veterinarian and general Lupus Sapiens specialist...

  
_Most of the Turned had shown up well before sunset, afraid to be caught out in the moon’s rays. A particularly nervous-looking man drew his attention instantly. An idea flashed through his mind as he looked at the young man as he paced back and forth within the confines of his cell_ (Early twenties, recently turned, engineer, registered but hasn’t told anyone yet) _. He stopped outside the glass barrier and folded his hands behind his back. “Hello,” he intoned, watching the young man jump. “I’m Sherrinford, What is your name?”_

  
_The man, obviously feeling the pull if the Moon, scratched his arms nervously. “Sean,” he mumbled, averting his gaze._

  
_“You’re still new to this, aren’t you Sean?” he said in what he deemed to be a kind tone._

  
_“It’s my third moon.” The man’s eyes flickered about his cell, taking in the bare walls, the piles of sheets on the floor, the patch of grass in the corner, and the pile of hamburger sitting beside the water bowl._

  
_“You are afraid because you still lose yourself.” He was stating a fact, but the man’s eyes met his and he nodded once. “What do you have to live for? Who do you miss most when you’re locked in here? Anyone special in your life, Sean?”_

  
_“I, um, I miss my girlfriend. I-I was going to propose and then this happened.” His eyes flickered up to meet his own. “She doesn’t know.”_

  
_“Do you have a picture?”His newly-formed plan was entirely hinged on the presence of the picture._

  
_“Yes,” the man replied, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket and unfolding the image. “Her name’s Elizabeth.”_

  
_“Lovely name,” he said brusquely, opening the door slightly and forcing his arm through. “Could I see?”_

  
_“But, I-”_

  
_“Give it to me,” he commanded, lacing the order with a bit of his Alpha essence. The young man handed the picture over. He slammed the door shut again, sliding the lock home and left, going in search of tape._

  
_While he had never experienced life without the wolf, Sherlock had told him of his first terrifying Turn. He was alone, trapped by his hyper-sensitive instincts, and only a few things were able to help him pull his humanity to the fore of his mind. Familiar things. Connections to humanity could help maintain humanity. His brother’s interactions with Molly that first night certainly helped him resurface through the instincts._

  
_Soon, every occupied cell had pictures tape to the outside walls. Some had favorite songs playing over their intercoms, others had the noise of the telly (But no images - bright colors and such being rather stimulating, even when in control). Clothing was left inside the cells, filling them with the scents of home, family, human food - anything that they had come into contact with over the last day or so._

  
_Molly was curious about his rather odd redecoration of the tanks and asked about it._ (The lovely thing about Molly was that she never stopped herself from asking a question when she had one. She had no pretenses and she was just a naturally kind soul. A lovely person - one whom he was proud to call Pack) _. He smiled at her, saying,“Humans have connections to things, people, places, smells, tastes. That is how we live. Sean, for example, relaxed visibly when talking about his girlfriend. Elizabeth means the world to him, which means that an image of her should cause him to think about her, and thus, remember that he still has something to live for as a human. I’ve done similar things to all the other subjects within Baskerville. I expect to hear of behavior changes tonight. Now, if you’ll excuse me...” He spun on his heel, already feeling the familiar ache in his bones as the Moon sang to him, calling him into his other form._

  
_Unable to watch any of his handiwork, for fear of setting the other wolves off, he waited to see what appeared on the tapes and in Molly and Mycroft’s careful notes, opting to spend his evening on the open moorlands surrounding the facility._

  
_The results were fascinating, truly. Sherlock was right_ (Though he really hated telling the other man that) _. All they needed was a reminder of their humanity. Many of the wolves had spent the night comfortably curled up in the piles of their clothing, eyes fixed on pictures or ears twitching to sounds that filled their human lives. The majority of them looked sad, like they had lost so much. His heart went out to them, and to Sherlock, the images of the caged wolves reminding him that none of them had chosen this. They had had lives before this, **human** lives that had forever been altered to be ruled by the phases of the moon. And, worst of all, he had put thirty of them there personally._

  
Though the morose quality of the night weighed heavily on his mind, he was reminded that it was progress. So much more progress than either Molly or Mycroft were able to create during their tenure as keepers of the Turned. _How many of those people in the photographs knew of the conditions of their loved ones? How many of them had rejected them, as his family had done? How many Turned, fearing just that, hid their condition?_

  
It had been Molly who had decided to bring people in for the Full Moon and to begin to integrate friends, men who had met through support groups or work, into larger tanks. After some of the Turned told their loved ones about their condition, more humans began to spend their Full Moons in the facility. It was like night and day. The human interactions with the wolves brought out their humanity. Not all of them retained it through the entire night, though, making the tanks and separating barriers necessary. However, progress was being made and Lupus Sapiens were beginning to be viewed as human again. One had exceeded his expectations entirely.

  
He smiled, recalling the conversation that he had had with the young man who had inspired the movement.

  
_“You-you want me to t-tell my girlfriend?” Sean replied, startled. “My **parents** don’t even know!”_

  
_“I understand,” he replied. “However, given what we observed last night, we think that human interaction is the key. You said yourself that you remembered her, that you were aware last night. That it was a good night, even under the light of the full moon. Don’t you want to spend your time with your girlfriend instead of locked in here?”_

  
_The young man looked nervous and desperate. He smiled kindly, his lips closed.“Sean. She will be safe. You’ll still be contained within your tank, everything just the way you like it. She will just be on the other side of the glass, talking to you and telling you how handsome you are, even in your furry form.”_

  
_The man blushed. “Okay, Doctor Holmes,” he replied. “I will bring her next month, but I will tell her in my own way.”_

  
_“Of course,” he nodded. “Have a good month! And please send the next person in.”_

  
Now Sean and his wife, Elizabeth, spent their moons in a private apartment. The young wolf was quite a cuddler, he was told. He grinned, allowing his teeth to flash victoriously. Things were certainly different than he had originally though they’d be and he was glad of that.


	4. Chapter 3: The Student

She scratched her calf, enjoying the pull of her patent leather shoe on her woolen sock. Her chin rested in her hand as her mind wandered. She liked school, she really did, but her science teacher was the most boring, droning professor in the entire history of the profession. Uncle Sherlock had taught her so much more about Chemistry at his kitchen table with his own second-hand science equipment than she had learned from her current teacher.

  
Finally, the bell tolled and she gathered her things, stuffing them into her sack and practically ran from the room. The air almost seemed to become less stagnant, a hint of freedom floating on it as her steps brought her through the corridor to her history classroom. She enjoyed history, despite what her Uncle told her about it being useless knowledge, and she was looking forward to the beginning of this lecture. Anything that got Sherlock Holmes riled up had to be fascinating, of that she was certain. Taking her usual seat in the front row ( _Yes, she knew that only the overachievers sat in the front row, but she really loved the class_ ), she pulled her notebook out and left her pen ready.

  
Her professor, Ms. Crowley, strode into the room, placed a stack of books and notes on her desk, and clapped her hands together. “Alright class, please simmer down and grab you seats. Today we are going to begin to study one of our most recent and controversial laws: _The Declaration of the Rights of Werewolf-kind_. This topic has been, and continues to be, a topic of hot debate. I ask that everyone approach this topic with an open and understanding mind. While they are rare - less than two thousand live here in Britain, werewolves do live among us and some of you may even know one. Can you do that?”

  
Her classmates murmured their consent or nodded. A few rolled their eyes, obviously not thrilled with the topic. Her professor took their responses as a show of understanding and continued. “Before we begin to examine the law itself, we need to look at the werewolves themselves. Their scientific classification is _Lupus_ , or wolf, _Sapiens_ , or wise. There are two types: Natural Born, meaning they are born with the genetic mutation that allows them to transform into a wolf at will; and Turned, meaning they were bitten by a Lupus Sapiens, contracted their DNA through the bite and were mutated from there. A majority of Britain’s werewolf population are Turned with only two registered Natural Born wolves that are documented at this time. Many speculate that there is a Natural Born pack in the country that has refused to register with the government, but it would be impossible to tell.”

  
“Why?” a boy seated behind her asked.

  
“Well, Mr. Attenborough, werewolves look and act exactly like humans. They contain extra chromosomes on the cellular level which gives them several lupine attributes while still human, but they are generally unnoticeable to the naked, untrained eye. The only difference is the forced Full Moon transformation into wolf form. Other than that, they live normally.”

  
“Why is the population of Turned so high it there are only two Natural Born werewolves in the UK?” the girl beside her asked.

  
“That is a great question, Ms. Brinkley,” her professor smiled. “That is actually the reason behind the law that we are studying today. About eight years ago, there was a slew of attacks that began on every Full Moon. They resulted in several people being Turned. It was believed that if the government was able to discover who the wolves were, Turned or otherwise, they would eventually find the Lupus Sapiens responsible, which they did, primarily with the help of Detective Sherlock Holmes and his younger brother, Dr. Sherrinford Holmes. In fact, the Holmes family is responsible for most of our knowledge on the Lupus Sapiens, seeing as Dr. Holmes is the world’s leading expert on the subject.”

  
Evelyn beamed, very proud of her uncles - all three of them - for their work with the werewolves. She might not know any Wolves personally, but she did know the men who had discovered the species and had worked to give them equal rights after they were Turned. Though why her Uncle Sherlock didn’t want her to learn of his or his siblings’ involvements in this important issue, she had no idea. Looking around her classroom at her peers, she was certain that she could not say the same for them. Many looked utterly terrified at the notion of real werewolves while others looked like they wanted to mount their heads on their walls like trophies.

  
“Late next week, after we conclude our analysis of the Law, we will be holding a debate,” Ms. Crowley cut through her thoughts. “Please consider both sides of the argument carefully: Should there be laws governing the Lupus sapiens? Is the current Law fair, giving them equal rights to humans? And, most importantly, should they, as a species, be regulated? Please be sure to have research that backs up your claims. And, as this assignment falls after the full moon, I suggest that you think about what these men go through on that night as you prepare your arguments.”  
______________________________________

  
“Daddy,” she asked later, seated beside her father at their kitchen table in their small flat on Baker Street, “Are you a werewolf?”

  
He father, usually so unshakeable, looked a bit startled. “Whuh-what, Angel? No, no I’m not. That’s a rather silly thought, isn’t it? I’ve never really disappeared on the Full Moon, have I? I’m always here, with you.” He paused, cocking his head. “Why do you think I am?” He smiled at her, though he raised his chin slightly, like he did when he was trying to prove a point in an argument with Uncle Sherlock.

  
Slowly, she reached a hand out and pulled on the chain of small, metal beads that was currently poking out of his collar. A pair of worn, chipped and dented dog tags flopped out onto his shirt front. “We’ve started to study the Werewolf Rights movement and all werewolves have to wear tags. At least all the registered ones do. The ones that are following Uncle Mycroft’s law.”

  
He smiled at her kindly, cupping her cheek with his hand tenderly. “Darling, that is true, but dog tags have been used by the military for over one hundred years to identify soldiers if they’re killed in battle.” His hand rose to play with the thin pieces of metal that hung off the chain. “These are mine. We did three tours of Afghanistan, me and these tags. I wore them the day I left home. I wore them the day I was shot. I wore them the day you were born and I will wear them until I die. Then they’ll be yours.”

  
“But Daddy,” she smiled back, “You’re not in the military anymore.”

  
“True, but the army is in my blood and these remind me of that, every day.” He sat back and took her in with his sparkling blue eyes. “Why are you suddenly so curious about werewolves, Evy? They’re so rare, the odds of you meeting one are slim.”

  
“I know, but...I don’t know...I kind of want to.” She looked away, flushing. “They must be fascinating beings.”

  
“They’re not beings, Evelyn,” her father’s voice was firm. “They’re humans, like the rest of us and they deserve to be treated as such.”

  
“Have you met one?” Her eyes were wide with wonder.

  
He chuckled, as if at a personal joke. “Oh yes. A handful, thanks to your Uncles and their research. Sometimes they shift back after a Moon and need someone to patch them up. Your uncles apparently don’t trust any of the other doctors in Britain. That’s why I can tell you that they’re no different than anyone else.”

  
“That’s what Ms. Crowley said. I still think it’d be cool, though.” She stood and shoved her homework back into her school bag, readying herself for bed. A thought, more like a memory flashed into her mind. It was old, almost grainy - from when she was a young girl.

  
_A man, tall and thin from behind, with auburn hair, pulled a robe off his body, leaving it bare. He stood away from her, looking at the full moon. As it’s rays illuminated the ground and the man, his body broke and shifted, leaving a wolf with short, tawny fur and bright blue eyes in his place. A chain with a pair of tags swung from his neck, reflecting the light._

  
“Daddy,” she asked, pecking her father’s warm, weathered cheek, “Is Uncle Sherrinford a werewolf?”

  
Her father turned from his paperwork to look at her. “That’s an interesting conclusion to come to. Why do you ask?”

  
“I’m not sure,” she breathed, making her way to the loo, “I just thought I remembered seeing him transform years ago. I must be imagining things.”

  
Her father chuckled, shaking his head. “You’ve always had a vibrant imagination. Well, have a lovely night, Evelyn,” the older man replied, “Sleep well.”  
___________________________________________

  
She was lying in bed, pretending to sleep, listening to the conversation that was coming from the kitchen beyond. It made little sense but she had always found her Uncle Sherlock’s deep voice to be comforting, even if he could be a bit brusque. It was the perfect timbre to promote sleep.

  
“Thank you - for earlier. I appreciate your discretion, as does my brother,” the rich baritone of the wold’s only consulting detective stated.

  
“Well, I know your feelings on the topic. Though, I’m starting to realize that it will have to be breached.” Her father sounded a bit nervous in comparison to her uncle. “I’m ok with it - if you are. All of you.”

  
There was a large sigh. “It’s time. I’ll ask him but I’m sure he’ll agree. He’s been begging me to get out on the moor with him. I’ll see if this month is agreeable.”

  
Her father chuckled. “You could always just _make_ it happen.”

  
“He’d hate that, and you know it,” the younger man chuckled back. “I can’t let this power go to my head. He is, after all, better than me in every way.”

  
“I can’t believe that you, Sherlock Bleeding Holmes, admitted that someone was better at something than you!” Her father was outright laughing now.

  
The dark-haired man responded through the din with something that sounded like, “Don’t get used to it.”

  
The interaction continued, as the two men shifted subjects to the latest case that they were working, their voices going well into the night as she slept, dreaming of wolves. It was only after she woke in the morning that she realized that her father had not answered her question.


	5. Chapter 4: The Government

“Molly! Are you packed yet? We have to get the twins to London before noon if we’re going to make it in time for sunset!” He was shouting, pulling Nathaniel off his sister, attempting to detangle his fingers from her hair as she shrieked. “Nathaniel! Let go of your sister! This is inappropriate - act like the young man that we’ve raised you to be!”

  
His son, for once, listened, dropping his hands and stepping back as his daughter took a swipe at her sibling. “Lucy! That was uncalled for. Apologize. Both of you.”

  
The twins mumbled half-hearted apologies at each other. “Thank you,” he said, giving both of them a one-armed hug and placing a kiss on each curly head. “Now go to the car. Your mother and I will join you shortly.”

  
The little ones, now seven, nodded and grabbed their overnight bags. They really did love Mrs. Hudson and he knew that she spoiled them rotten. They were lucky to have the older woman in their lives, of that he was certain. Without her, he wouldn’t be able to continue to keep such a close eye on his younger brothers and their mutual condition as well as the remaining Lupus sapiens in the realm. Watching his kids climb into the waiting town car, he turned and headed up the stairs to help his wife.

  
Molly was truly his better half, his ‘Mate’ as his brothers would refer to her, and he loved her dearly. At forty-two, she was still stunningly beautiful. Her hair had started to have hints of silver play through it and her laugh and smile lines were permanently accenting her lips and eyes, showing her years of experience and her wealth of knowledge. He couldn’t imagine that he had once deemed love and sentiment a sign of weakness. Molly showed him that love was strength.

  
He turned the corner into their master bedroom to find his beloved wife sitting on the end of their bed, struggling to get off the squishy surface, her rounded stomach making it difficult for her to move. “Oh, goodness, Myc,” she grumbled, looking overwhelmed. “Thank God that you finally showed up. I’ve been trying to get up for the last fifteen minutes! How embarrassing.”

  
He chuckled, wrapping an arm around Molly’s back and offering her his other hand, which she squeezed tenderly. Slowly, he helped her to her swollen feet before moving his hands to cradled her stomach. “Twins again, Mycroft Holmes,” she chided. “And at my age. How could you?” Her lips met his, showing him that all was forgiven.

  
“I’m terribly sorry, Darling,” he murmured, bending to pick up her bags, and ushering her towards the door. “I did not expect two sets of twins, but they do skip a generation. I’ve been told.”

  
She laughed, a beautiful cacophony, as she waddled out into the hallway. “Are you coming, Darling? The Moon won’t wait for you!”

  
“Don’t we know it,” he muttered, following his turgid wife down the steps, still thinking that she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.  
_______________________________________________

  
The twins were dropped off at 221 Baker Street, their short helicopter ride with John, Sherlock, and an extremely excited Evelyn had concluded, and now they were driving up to Baskerville. Evelyn had been there before, when she was three and her father had learned to truth about Sherlock, but she did not remember. Her nose was pressed to the glass, drinking in every last tuft of grass and bend of the stream that ran through the moor. Her father had told her that she could come to observe some werewolves, as that was what her latest school project was about. What she did not know was that those werewolves would be her two uncles, letting the thirteen year old into their tight circle of confidence.

  
He wondered if the little girl knew what she was getting into. If she understood the weight of her responsibility and the importance of this secret. Of how it could truly impact the lives of the men that loved her enough to tell her. Judging from her rather jovial juvenile grin, she had no idea.

  
He shifted his gaze to the mirror, noting Sherlock’s jittery leg, bouncing up and down nervously. He wondered if the younger man was nervous about his proclamation to the young woman that her favorite dog was actually a man or if it was the usual anxiety that he felt as the Moon drew near. _Probably a bit of both…_

  
“Are you excited, Evy?” the doctor asked from the back seat, looking at his child who could, honestly, barely sit still.

  
“This is like Christmas! I’m going to be the only person in my class who’s actually going to meet Wolves and see them up close! Do you think they’ll let me watch them transform?” She turned away from the window briefly to meet her father’s blue eyes.

  
“No,” the dark haired Wolf chimed in, sitting up a bit straighter, his eyes widening ever so slightly. “Absolutely not.”

  
“But...” the girl moped, her eyes growing hugely as she begged almost as if she were one of the oversized puppies that his brothers turned into.

  
Sherlock was not charmed. “No buts. That is when their instincts are closest to the surface and their human rationale is at it’s lowest. Too dangerous for you, and for them.” Her uncle turned back to the window, concluding the conversation. “Not to mention that they are all grown men and you are a thirteen year old girl and they usually transform _sans_ clothing.”

  
The young teenager huffed, “ _Fine_.”

  
The car pulled up to the gate, which opened quickly at the sight of Mycroft Homes, the British Government, and the younger Holmes twitching in the back seat. The guards were used to the comings and goings of the Older Holmes boys. Sherrinford, whether in penitence or because he felt that he better served the Lupus Sapiens at Baskerville, rarely left the facility. He did leave on Full Moon nights, running about the moor as Sherlock had done for that first year. He also visited the family estate in Oxford, but never stayed for long stretches of time. He was sure that the lack of childhood memories in his assigned room (Which _had_ been his nursery) made the young man sad, reminding him that he had not always been welcomed in the Holmes household.

  
Right now, however, his youngest sibling was standing near the car park, beaming like a loon. He pulled the car up in his usual spot and, before he had even parked the car, Evelyn jumped out, running into her youngest Uncle’s open arms.

  
“Evy!” he shouted happily, pulling the slim form of the young woman into his chest. He noted that the young man scented her lightly, inhaling along her hair line lightly before placing a tender kiss to brow. “How are you, Beautiful Girl?”

  
“Great! I’m so excited to meet some werewolves.” She beamed completely unaware that she was held in the arms of one of two Natural Born Wolves in the United Kingdom.

  
“I’m pretty sure they will be thrilled to meet you,” the veterinarian responded, releasing her. “Let’s get your things, yeah?” His focus shifted, nostrils flaring as his eyes found his Alpha. “Sherlock,” he intoned, tilting his head slightly to the left, exposing his neck, “Thank you for coming out for the Moon. I-I really appreciate it.”

  
The detective gave a small, tight-lipped smile before briefly embracing the younger man, each scenting the other lightly. “Thank you for the invitation, Sherrinford. It promises to be quite a night for everyone, I think.”

  
“Now that the reunions are done...” he attempted to interject, not used to being lower on the totem pole than Sherlock, much less Sherrinford.

  
“Not yet,” his youngest sibling insisted, sweeping his rounded wife into his arms. “Molly,” he whispered, inhaling again, “You look stunning.”

  
“Stop it, Sher,” his spouse waved the compliment away. “I feel like a whale.”

  
“Then you must be making all the other whales jealous,” he replied, placing a light kiss to her flushed cheek before inhaling lightly ( _Just in case. He did not want to confuse or forget - not tonight_ ). His bright blue eyes turned then to John, whom he greeted heartily with a hand shake and a light head tilt.

  
Mycroft stewed, again reminded that he was a Subordinate in his middle brother’s Pack. It was strange and he wasn’t entirely sure he liked the lack of authority or relished it. Finally, his youngest brother greeted him, his lips pressed together in a smile, his chin slightly raised in a power play. “Mycroft.”

  
“Sherrinford. How are our patients today?” He cut to the chase, very much over the niceties and Pack hierarchy mumbo-jumbo.

  
The other man peeled his lips back slightly into a smile, again asserting his dominance. _Reminding me that I am on his turf now. In his territory_ , he thought, wishing that he could growl convincingly at his youngest sibling, annoyed at his airs. “Most are already situated. Their families are here as well. I believe that our little success story, Sean, has already shifted. Elizabeth is expecting.”

  
“What about the child?” he asked, his voice dropping to a whisper, wary about the possibility of a Natural Born resulting from the coupling.

  
The taller man cocked his auburn head. “It hasn’t stopped you,” the other man whispered with a soft smile, his eyes flicking to Molly’s rounded shape. “They are willing to take the same chance.”


	6. Chapter 5: The Alpha

The apartment was as he remembered. Mycroft had even pulled the sheets out of storage, rich and embedded with his scent, neatly folded at the corner of one of the sofas. Of course the facility now carried the scents of nearly five hundred Wolves (The largest transformation center in the UK) and he was not entirely comfortable with it, the hair on the back of his neck raising slightly. The little flat of the Hooper-Holmes clan, however, had retained the odor of Pack, and it calmed him, soothing the Wolf.

  
“Together?” he breathed to his younger sibling, eyebrow quirked. While he disliked speaking ambiguously, it was necessary until Evelyn learned the truth.

  
The younger man shook his head once. “Meet up after - just to be sure.”

  
He rolled his eyes. The drama between the pair of Wolves played out similarly every time they Turned together. Sherrinford, being Natural Born, was faster and more adept at every part of being a Wolf. However, though their common bloodline, and the fact that the younger man was his last addition to his rather unorthodox Pack, he usually triumphed. Secretly, he knew that Sherrinford was letting him win, which made the whole exercise tiresome and completely unnecessary to his human logic. His wolf instincts, however, were immediately drawn to the fore directly after a Shift and demanded the drama to play out continuously. “Must we?” he muttered, making the auburn-haired man chuckle.

  
“We’ll have to see.”

  
He sighed walking away, already nervous and worried and, honestly, overwhelmed by the amount of stimulation his senses were receiving in his human shape. He was unused to the large amount of Wolves in one location. Baskerville had been his domain fourteen years ago. Now it barely held his reticence.

  
“We’ve put you in the guest room, John,” Molly said, huffing a little from the walk to their flat from the car park. “Evelyn, you’re on the sofa-bed in the study. Boys, well...”

  
“We’ll make due, Molly,” he answered with a small smile.

  
“Or we can crash at mine,” Sherrinford stated, holding their charade a bit longer. “Meet you for breakfast in the morning.” They waited until the teenager left, her overnight bag tucked under an arm. “This is becoming ridiculous,” the younger Wolf continued. “When shall we tell her and give up this farce?” His nostrils flared and his head whipped around to face the eldest Holmes. “Did you bring Angelo’s?”

  
“Yes, of course, Brother Dear,” Mycroft intoned, pulling the large aluminum trays out and setting them on the counter before shoveling the contents into bowls. “Sherlock also insisted on-”

  
“Yes, I can smell the raw steaks.” The veterinarian turned to face him with a large smile on his face. “Brilliant. Especially if we’re not getting out tonight.”

  
“Dinner,” he intoned, layering a bit of Alpha into his voice so that there would be no argument. “We tell her at dinner.”

  
Sherrinford nodded before exposing a bit of his neck. Mycroft similarly nodded, helping Molly carry the bowls of pasta over to their table. It would be a bit crowded with six people, but they would make due. Pack loved each other, after all.

  
Evelyn came bounding back into the room, tugging an already tired looking John behind her. “When can we see the werewolves, Uncle Mycroft?” she asked excitedly.

  
“Soon,” he replied. “Dinner first. The Wolves won’t do anything extraordinary before moonrise anyway.”

  
His younger brother laughed and he found himself snorting derisively. He was always fascinating and extraordinary - just ask John. Mycroft rolled his eyes and helped his pregnant wife sit, her back propped and supported by pillows. _Another six to eight weeks_ , he calculated, though it did not seem like a short enough time for Molly, who groaned, rubbing her stomach gently.

  
Evelyn was practically wriggling out of her skin with excitement. Her odd fascination with the whole thing made him curious. _Does she already know?_ He averted his eyes, filling his plate instead, heaping it high with the calories that his body would expend when he Shifted. His other four-legged Pack member echoed his enthusiasm, digging into the pasta dish and making it disappear rapidly. He wondered when the last time the other man had Shifted. He tended to Shift more often than he did - it was part of his upbringing after all, but even he seemed to be a bit on edge.

  
As plates cleared, his stomach almost uncomfortably full, he slowly pushed his plate away. Moonrise was less than an hour away, he could feel Her call in his bones, making his blood hum. The teenager was still working on her food but seemed to be nearly done. His mercurial eyes met the deep blue of his younger sibling and gave him a small nod.

  
“Evelyn,” Sherrinford said, summoning more confidence in his voice than the detective felt at the moment, “Darling, I know that you would like to meet some of my patients, yes?”

  
Immediately, the young woman’s utensils were placed on her plate with a bit of a clatter. He winced. “Yes!” she exclaimed, standing up and pushing her chair back. “Are we going now!?”

  
The young man chuckled. “Let’s go to the sofas. I’ll tell you about them.”

  
The teen stood and practically ran to the sofa, throwing herself down on a cushion and picking up her notebook and a pen from the coffee table. The adults followed, John thankfully staying by his side, giving him strength and courage that he didn’t realize he needed until now. He sat opposite the blonde girl, John on his right, Sherrinford, his left. He fiddled with his collar, well-worn by now, in his pocket, before giving his younger sibling a small nod.

  
“Now Darling,” Sherrinford intoned, “The most important thing to remember about werewolves is that they are first and foremost people. They just happen to be people who can become something else - in this case, a wolf. The instincts of the wolf become stronger the closer it is to the Full Moon, providing heightened sight, hearing, and smell. In wolf form, the Lupus Sapiens can be entirely rational and very like their human self. That is _very important_. It is the one thing you _must remember_.”

  
Evelyn nodded solemnly, as her eyes flickered to the door, expecting a group of Wolves to waltz through it. The detective cleared his throat, drawing her attention back to him. “Evelyn, how can you identify a Lupus sapiens in human form?”

  
Her face screwed up in concentration before she answered, “You can’t. There is no detectable difference if you were to pass one on the street. However, in my class, we discovered that there are some physical attributes that the human and wolf forms share.”

  
“Yes, there are. That is right. However, right now, I want you to identify a fully-clothed werewolf. What do you look for?” He focused on her face as he slowly unbuttoned his collar. His peripheral vision told him that Sherrinford was following his lead.

  
“You look for tags.” The young woman blushed. “I asked my Dad if he was one because I saw his military tags.”

  
“They are similar.” He dug into his pocket, feeling the worn and weathered leather before pulling it out along with his pair of tags. His younger sibling did the same, his tags jangling merrily. “Only a close inspection would reveal the differences.”

  
The teenager’s jaw dropped, her blue eyes impossibly wide as they flicked back and forth, scrutinizing him then his other four-legged Pack mate. He slowly pushed the collar towards her, across the table. Noticing the motion, she stared at it, recognizing it immediately. “ _Willie?_ ” she breathed.

  
“Yes,” he replied, gently cocking his head and giving her a shy, quirked smile.

  
“The wolf, at Grandmother and Grandfather’s house in Oxford - When I was five...” She shook her head before looking at his younger brother, dumbfounded. “That was you - I thought I saw you - But you weren’t there any more...And I...I...”

  
“We understand that this is a lot to take in,” Sherrinford intoned kindly.

  
He continued to smile as he witnessed the woman’s mind piecing all the times she had seen them as Wolves. “We are the same. I am still very much Sherlock Holmes, or Willie, no matter the form. The same, if not more so, for Sherrinford, seeing as he’s been at this longer than myself.”

  
“Huh-how long?” the blonde girl asked, eyes wide with questions.

  
“My entire life,” his youngest sibling intoned softly, his face kind. “It’s been what, fourteen years, Sherlock?”

  
“ _Fifteen_ in January - but who’s counting?” Evelyn’s jaw hit the floor, her eyes so wide they threatened to pop out of her head.

  
“Sherlock,” John muttered, “Go change. The moonrise isn’t too far away.”

  
With a nod to Sherrinford, he stood and moved off into the rest of the apartment, his steps echoed by those of his younger brother, his mind still on the conversation they had just had. John had told him that she had assumed for some time that his younger sibling was a werewolf. Including him shouldn’t be that difficult - after all, he spent nearly every Full Moon with her. She was quite smart and certainly would have noticed that Willie only came to stay on Full Moon nights and that he and Sherlock had never met or interacted.

  
He slipped into his elder brother’s study, and closed the door until only a sliver remained, enough to stick his muzzle through to escape the room. The Goddess was beginning to rise, he could feel the roiling in his blood, his muscles and bones aching for the release they received with the aid of the Moon. He stripped quickly, folding his clothes neatly and placing them onto a chair. All except his tags, which hung, as they always did, warm against his chest.

  
Crouching, he inhaled slowly through his nose and let go. His innards shifted first, twisting about within his chest cavity and abdomen before his bones began to break. It was no longer painful, and the entire process took less than a minute on nights like tonight, but he still released his breath in a soft whine, counteracting the ache that coated his entire body. Everything sharpened, except color, which dulled, and, finally, he was standing on the carpet, his claws digging into the fibers and his ears catching the final moments of his brother’s, and nearly five hundred other Wolves’, shifts.

  
Compelled by the Moon, he shook out his coat and tossed back his head, howling. The sound was quickly joined in harmony with that of Sherrinford, making the flat ring with their music. Turning, eager to find his Pack mate, he trotted to the door, pushing it open with his nose. The auburn Wolf was waiting for him in the hallway, head lower than his and cocked slightly to the left.

  
He growled, missing their play fighting instinctually, but rationally realizing that a fight would wreck the flat they were in and would terrify the little girl in the next room. Rumbling a bit, he raised his head and snapped lightly at the exposed neck, pressing his sharp teeth lightly to the skin. When he let go, Sherrinford licked under his chin, giving him dominance and telling him that he accepted his rule.

  
Turning, ears pricked at the soft whispers in the sitting room, the pair of Wolves stalked down the hallway to greet their Pack properly.


	7. Chapter 6: The (Other Alpha) Beta and the Turner

Sherlock was being reasonable - for once. He had insisted on a display of dominance, one which he had initiated, wanting to get it over with before going to greet the young woman in the living room. No need to scare her with theatrics, not tonight anyway.

  
The dark, shaggy wolf trotted ahead of him, allowing him to stand at his shoulder. It was the position of the Pack Beta, the second-in-command. If Mycroft understood Wolf dynamics and hierarchy, he’d be stewing right now.

  
His nostrils flared, allowing him to note the assembled Pack as well as those beyond. It was an odd, eclectic jumble of odors. Overwhelming but not unpleasant. _Expensive tobacco, formaldehyde, take-away, vanilla, gunpowder and wool, fresh-cut grass. Hints of biscuits and weed (Mrs. Hudson), applesauce and crayons from the twins. Forest, thick and overwhelming from the Others._

  
Sherlock paused at the end of the hallway, making him stop as well. Ridiculous etiquette, he huffed. He was Alpha, just like his brother (And his other brother, if he was Turned). Playing second fiddle was not entirely his style, but it had to be, for tonight anyway.

  
Evelyn sat, notebook drawn into her chest protectively, her eyes wide. He cocked an eyebrow muscle, confused. She had seemed alright with everything when he had left a few minutes ago. Now she looked (and smelled) terrified of them.

  
Attempting to comfort her, he lay down with a faint whine and a couple of solid thumps of his tail on the polished oak of the floor. His brother, not to be out done, trotted forward before laying at the girl’s feet, his own tail wagging expectantly. “Wuh-Willie?” she hesitated, a hand extended. The dark wolf, curling fur rustling gently, licked it. She giggled, reaching out to scratch the other wolf’s ears, causing the tags to click together and his brother’s leg to jiggle. He panted, tongue lolling out over his sharp teeth and his eyes closing in utter contentment.

  
Sherrinford whined, feeling left out. He rested his head on his paws with a sigh. Molly, the woman barely able to move, noticed his actions and gripped the arms of her chair, attempting to hoist herself up. That, in turn, alerted Mycroft, who shot him a rather dark glare. “Molly, Darling,” the man murmured, “Please don’t get up to go get on the ground. Don’t do that to yourself. He can come when he’s ready.”

  
The woman sent him an apologetic smile and extended her hand instead. He had wanted to wait for Evelyn, her fear and confusion still mingled with her scent, but he was loath to leave his brother’s mate wanting, so he rose and trotted to her. With a low grumble, he pressed the top of his head into her palm, his tongue darting over her stomach, pulling at the fabric.

  
The woman laughed and a child punched at his tongue, almost bonking him in the nose. He yipped, backing away slighting before sniffing at the protruding part of her stomach warily. “I think he likes you, Uncle Sherrinford,” Molly giggled as the limb, probably a hand, moved under his muzzle.

  
He nuzzled the area in response, trying to calm the thrashing child when he caught an interesting and surprising scent. It was faint, blocked by the perfume of Molly and Mycroft, but it was there. Forest. Suddenly, the thrashing made more sense. _The baby is Shifting. The baby doesn’t like me. **It is me**_.

  
Quickly he moved to the woman’s other side and sniffed at that part of her stomach, ignoring the sounds of happiness that floated around him and focusing on the one task at hand. The scent was less and, placing his nose on the rounding of Molly’s abdomen, this child lay still, only twitching every now and again. As if sensing his question, the mortuary answered, “The other one’s more active. Usually at night.”

  
_So it **is** a Pup then_. He tucked the information away, trying not to let the worry ruin the evening. He could be wrong, after all. There were ways to test and check, all of which he knew but could not perform, due to his lack of hands. John, on the other hand, could run the tests next month, just to be sure.

  
With a sigh, he lay down at Molly’s feet, warming them and her swollen ankles with his high temperature. His eyes, still blue and human, he knew, followed the frantic hands of Evelyn Watson as she gave his Alpha, her quasi-parent, a belly rub. John, who had adapted surprisingly well to being the other Wolf’s Mate, rubbed too, laughing at the carefree detective.

  
Feeling a bit antsy and needing to expend some of his energy, he nuzzled Molly’s leg and rose, trotting to the door with a soft yip. “Sherrinford,” Mycroft breathed as if his youngest brother was an incompetent child, “You should have used the loo before moonrise.”

  
He yipped again, running away from the door to paw at the hall closet, nosing the door open, and grabbing a pair of tennis balls in his rather large mouth. Lifting his tail like a banner at his achievement, he trotted back to the main door and pawed at it, dropping the balls and their odd rubbery, hairy taste and texture out of his mouth with another yip.

  
Sherlock, hearing the bounce of the balls, was instantly up and running, snatching a ball mid-bounce and bowling into him with a faint growl. He shoved back, picking up his ball again and dancing from foot to foot. With a sigh and a shake of his head, Mycroft handed something to John. “Take them out. Make sure they don’t get too near to the other enclosures. They know how to behave - I’m not quite a certain with the others.”

  
“Of course,” the soldier replied, accepting the keys and the access card, sliding them into a pocket, heading towards the door. “Are you coming, Evy?”

  
The teen looked torn. She was obviously comfortable with Sherlock - she had known him the longest. He was the problem, the wild card in the deck. She stood, her hands wrapped about her, near the couches, looking nervous. “Is that alright?” she asked, looking directly at him.

  
He nodded, his tags jangling, before taking a couple of steps towards her with a faint whine. “He’s still Uncle Sherrinford, Angel,” John said, standing behind him now, one hand on the doorknob, the other attempting to restrain an all too excited Sherlock. The other wolf was a genius until you gave him a tennis ball, then it was all over. There were times that he wondered if his elder sibling wasn’t a were-labrador retriever instead of a werewolf.

  
He nodded again, panting slightly around the tennis ball in his mouth. Slowly, he took another step forward. He understood her hesitance. Sherlock was tall; his shoulders were at her father’s waist. That left him just below her chin, his ears brushing it.

  
As a Natural Born Wolf, he was just as lean as Sherlock (Thanks, in part, to their shared genetics) but he was taller. He could almost look the girl in the eyes. She was short, of course, just under five feet tall, but it could be intimidating. He slowly folded his legs underneath him and laid down, dropping his ball and nosing it towards her. His tail wagged, curiously. _Play? Please, play?_

  
His aim was true and the drool coated tennis ball bounced off the instep of her tennis shoe. His tail wagged faster as Sherlock continued to jump about like a loon behind him. His eyes flickered between the ball and her face, watching her pick it up slowly and turn the soggy mess about in her hands. “Uncle Sherrinford?” she breathed.

  
He nodded and gave a soft yip, his eyes drawn to the ball. His tail, wagging furiously, pulled his back end off the floor in anticipation. With a small smile, the teenager tossed the ball back to him. He jumped catching it easily in midair. “Would you like to play?” she asked, giggling. He nodded, nudging John to open the door.

  
“Dear Lord,” the doctor muttered good-naturedly, “We are never doing this again. One was enough! I can’t deal with _two_ oversized lapdogs.”

  
Sherlock growled at the insult, so the younger Holmes shoved him out of the way, scampering down the corridor. It diverted the older wolf’s attention long enough to give chase, that all thoughts of being a lapdog were forgotten, their strides beating a tattoo on the slippery linoleum of the hallways and into the packed dirt of the main yard.  
___________________________________________

  
Eventually, catch came to an end, the balls obliterated by their strong jaws and sharp teeth. They had played outside the compound, just off the roadway. There was no traffic - there rarely was on a night like tonight - and the little Pack unit had ended up laying together on the moor, looking up at the stars.

  
John reclined, propped against Sherlock’s furry side, a hand playing through the light curl of his underbelly. Evelyn had warmed up to him ( _He had always been her favorite uncle. Mycroft was not difficult to beat - the wet blanket, and Sherlock was more like a father to her anyway_ ). She lay on top of him, her stomach covering his back, her arms wrapped around his neck.

  
It was peaceful. The nocturnal sounds of the moor and the forest beyond tickled his ears, causing them to flick this way and that. Somewhere, in one of the many Pack enclosures, a lone Wolf took up his call. His Packmates joined him, the cacophony making beautiful music to the stars, blotting out the crickets.

  
When silence fell again, the teenager tossed her beautiful blonde head back and gave her own melodious howl to the Moon. His Alpha joined her, giving him permission to add his song to the night, the sound mingling with the others harmoniously. After a slight nudge from his Mate, the doctor joined them, his notes in perfect unison with Sherlock ( _As it should be. An Alpha and his Mate - of one mind_ ). The air rushed out of his lungs as the young girl tightened her grip on his neck slightly, her own howl ended.

  
“Well,” John said, a hint of finality in his voice, “This has been lovely gents but I think it’s time for bed.” He eased himself up to standing, not as limber as he once was, and offered a hand to his only child. “Come along, Evy.” His eyes, slate in his dulled Wolf vision, fell on the face of the detective. “Are you going to stay out?”

  
With a sigh, he rose to his feet and gave his coat a shake. He bent, retrieving the remains of the balls and moved back to the road, eyeing his sibling speculatively. The dark wolf rolled his eyes, sighing, and rose with a yawn and a stretch, his teeth catching the moonlight. Snuffling, the other wolf nudged his mate’s leg with his wedge-shaped head, ushering him towards the gates of Baskerville. He watched the human doctor simply shake his head and place his hand on the other man’s furred shoulder tenderly, the pair walking side by side. Perfect for each other - completing each other.   
________________________

  
There was a note hidden in the chunks of rare meat he had received for dinner that evening. _Tonight_ was all it read, but it made him smirk. _Tonight indeed_.

  
He wondered, not for the first time, if using his backer as a means to escape was a good idea. They were, after all, ancient enemies. But, he had provided something for the backer that hadn’t been there before, so maybe he was owed for his services. Once he left this blasted box, he could get back to doing what he did best: Turning unsuspecting targets. And, hopefully, taking out those bloody Holmes boys.

  
There was a sharp rap on his door. “Moon’s up in five. The diversion is set in motion.”

  
He grinned, his teeth flashing villainously. Smashing the dish against the wall, he used one of the sharper edges to slice the bug out of his neck. The pain was surprisingly dull, his mind already shifting to higher instincts. The fiercely bleeding wound would heal the instant he gave into the Shift anyway.

  
“Please man,” the voice through the door begged, “Don’t Turn me.”

  
He growled, letting the swift sensation roll through him. The man on the other side of the door was weak. He didn’t deserve to live as Wolf. _Pathetic human, living in your own cage!_

  
He threw back his head and howled.


	8. Chapter 7: The Doctor

It was surreal, really. This enormous secret that had covered so much of his life and the lives of the people around him, his family in a way, had been revealed to one of the people who truly mattered most to him. And she had taken it in stride, after the initial shock of it all.

  
His fingers wound themselves through Sherlock’s thick, velvety fur. The wolf growled possessively, low in his throat, and leaned further into his leg and side. He couldn’t imagine his life without the man beside him, a realization that had been reenforced time and time again. It had been just after the capture of St. Pierre that the detective had told him about their bond. His younger sibling had beaten him to it, years previous, but it was nice to hear it from the other man’s mouth.

  
_“John?” Sherlock’s voice was hesitant for maybe the first time since they had met. The usually confident man stood almost cowed and frightened before him, his head tilted slightly to the left, exposing the dominant side of his neck. His eyes, however, never left his own pair - submissive but dominant. Wary._

  
_“Yeah, Sherlock,” he replied, his brow furrowing._

  
_The other man ducked his head slightly, looking extremely uncertain. “John,” he began before clearing his throat to continue. “You understand that in being what I am, I am partially ruled by instincts, however illogical.”_

  
_He nodded, not wanting to interrupt the other man’s train of thought. The detective continued, pulling his robe tighter about his body. “Good. I have found that I am the Alpha of this little group of people - even Sherrinford submits to my authority, and now that I have established myself, there is something else that my nature is urging me to do.” He paused, his verdigris eyes tracing his weathered face._

_The doctor raised an eyebrow in response._

  
_Sherlock swallowed. “Do you remember when we met John? And you asked me about my love life and I told you that I was married to my work?” The inserted pause gave him time to nod. The taller man continued, “Well, since that time I have come to depend on you and I trust you and value your input.”_

  
_He couldn’t help but snort, recalling all the times that the younger man had called on his ‘expertise’ only to steamroll over his professional opinion. “Not now, John,” Sherlock huffed, crossing his arms defensively, “I am being serious right now.” The other man sighed, closing his eyes and regathered his thoughts. “What I am trying to say is that you are my Mate, John. And I mean it entirely platonically, as I am not interested in intercourse and you continue to insist that you are not gay. My biological imperative, thankfully, does not require coitus but does insist on a partner - one that can lead the Pack that I have created and John, it can only be you.”_

  
_He smiled, holding out his hand to the thinner man. “I would be honored to be your Mate, Sherlock.”_

  
It had been after that when the Wolf began to leave his slumbering daughter’s bed for his. The first few nights had been awkward, waking with a naked Sherlock Holmes thrown over his body in a protective gesture. Even the werewolf woke with a bit of a blush. After that, John slept under a blanket or two, with the Wolf on top of the comforter - next to each other, but with barriers between them once the transition back to human took hold. He smiled at the memories. He felt whole now - no gaping hole left by Mary, though he missed her terribly. He was beginning to understand why so many people truly loved their pets, the werewolf reminded him of that every Full Moon. Not that he’d tell the detective that - he was not a tame Wolf, after all, and the man refused to be classified as an animal.

  
He grinned, his fingers still wound in his Mate’s soft fur. No matter the form, Sherlock was still inexplicable after all their years together and he knew, deep within his soul, that they were always meant to be together, making each other whole.

  
Sherlock bumped his leg again, causing him to stumble a bit as they reached the gate of Baskerville but shaking him from his thoughts. Giving one of the massive triangular ears a scratch in gratitude, he pulled Mycroft’s keycard and key out of his pocket. The guards, armed to the teeth in case of an escape (There had never been one at Baskerville but other Transformation Centers had had break outs), looked at the two wolves impassively, obviously aware of who they were. “Good Evening, Dr. Watson,” the older guard, a corporeal intoned, raising the gate for them to pass through. “The moor is certainly beautiful tonight.”

  
Sherrinford trotted forward with a soft bark and a swift wag of his tail, his tongue lolling out of his impressive jaws and around the tennis balls he had in there. “I am glad to hear that, Sir,” the corporeal replied, a small smile playing at his lips. “All quiet here, though I’m sure Mr. Holmes the elder will be able to fill you in with more detail.”

  
The tawny wolf nodded sharply with a soft exhale and trotted through the gate, his tags clicking jovially as his claws beat a tattoo on the packed earth. Apparently, unable to resist, Sherlock left his side and snapped playfully at the other Wolf’s flank before darting away. A brief game of chase ensued, the pair racing about the carpark and main entrance grounds of the facility, yipping and snapping at each other. “Come on, Boys!” he yelled from the doorway, “Let’s get a move on.”

  
With one last snap, Sherlock abandoned his play to mark his territory on an oak tree (According to Mycroft, it had been the same tree that he had first laid claim to all those years ago). His younger sibling followed suit, yielding to the other wolf’s dominance while still falling into his pack instincts.

  
“They actually do that?” his daughter breathed, looking up at him and back at the Wolves.

  
“Yes,” he said with a small smile. “It is amazing how much they conform to the baser nature of the wolf while still maintaining their humanity. It’s the latter part that makes them more dog-like and less dangerous to those they know and trust. As your uncle said, it is important to remember that they are human - even when they don’t appear that way.”

  
He watched the pair finish up, each shaking their coats out before jogging to them and licking Evelyn’s cheeks and fingers as she tried to pet them, giggling. She had really warmed up to Sherrinford, who was dancing around her like an overgrown puppy. His giant head pushed itself between her legs, pushing her onto his broad back. She squealed, grabbing his thick ruff fur to stabilize herself. Sherlock, ever the ‘human,’ rolled his eyes and nipped at his younger sibling’s nose, reprimanding him. The younger wolf snapped back before trotting off down the hallway, his daughter riding on his back, her head thrown back in mirth.

  
He shook his head, looking down at his mate who rolled his eyes again before licking his wrist tenderly. “What are we going to do with them, Sherlock?” he chuckled, scratching the other man’s ears jovially. “A pair of children - the two of them.”

  
The detective yipped, cocking an eyebrow muscle. “A pair of pups, then,” he responded. The wolf nodded, his face amused but weary, not used to keeping up with the younger, natural born wolf as well as his thirteen year old daughter. Mycroft had the apartment door open for them, probably alerted to their return by the corporeal at the gate, a small smile on his face. “Did we have a good time?” he asked pointedly, looking at the wolves. One, his child’s fingers and legs still wrapped around his thinly muscled body, had suddenly become serious, his blue eyes focused on the older man. Sherlock leaned further into him, protectively, his ears pitched forward.

  
“Did something happen, Mycroft?” he asked, the only one with the ability to read the statesman as well as speak at the moment.

  
“Nothing,” came the other man’s reply. It was obviously a lie, but he smiled at Evelyn and helped her from his youngest sibling’s shoulders. “Did you learn anything new, my lovely girl?”  
____________________________________________

  
Evelyn was safely tucked into bed, asleep. Short, auburn fur coated the comforter beside her. Sherrinford had replaced Sherlock as her bedmate. A spot he would be returning to once this ‘Pack Meeting’ had concluded. He had called it, as was his right as the Alpha’s Mate, not wanting to wait until morning to discover what had gone wrong tonight.

  
He looked about the assembled Pack members, pleased that nearly everyone was here. Mrs. Hudson was really the only absent member as Lestrade was on speaker phone. “What happened?” he asked, his eyes fixed on Mycroft.

  
Sherlock leaned into him heavily, Sherrinford mirroring his stance with Molly, his body covering her legs.

  
“He’s gone,” the other man breathed. “And he left a message.”


	9. Chapter 8: The Detective Inspector

He really was getting too bloody old for this job. He missed his girls: the youngest was being boarded at school, the eldest was a freshman at university. When Donovan left to marry Anderson and raise their kids four years ago - well, he’d seriously thought of hanging it up.

  
But then he’d have missed out on so much. His werewolf integration program had gone really well. Every unit had at least one K13 as they were called (Thirteen for the thirteen Full Moons in a year. K for canine, a play off of the original K9 units). None of them were as astute as Sherlock but they were effective at following suspects and eliminating dead-end leads, particularly around this time of the month. Many had formed up their own little Pack units within precincts, spending their Moons together at one of the facilities. Sherlock was the only active member on Moon nights (His status was still miraculously under wraps), though, sometimes, like tonight, he ventured to Baskerville, leaving him to patrol without having a Wolf nearby.

  
It was something that he desperately wanted now, his feet pounding the pavement as he chased the perpetrator through narrow alleys and on rooftops. He really was getting too bloody old for this.

  
A voice crackled over his radio. _Bad news, Boss. The guy you’re chasing - diversion_.

  
“What!?” he yelled, stopping and picking up the radio, panting into it breathlessly. “What did you say?”

  
_The perp, Sir. He’s a diversion. Didn’t do anything._

  
“He escaped a holding cell!” His temper was flaring. “Get to the point - who’s he the diversion for?”

  
_**What** is a more accurate term, Sir. It’s **that** one. **It’s** out._

  
His stomach sank as he gasped for air. “St. Pierre?,” he breathed. “How the _hell_ did that _bastard_ escape?”

  
_Full Moon tonight, Sir_. He waited, wanting there to be more but knowing that there wasn’t.

  
He slowly edged his way back along the alley, hoping that he wasn’t too far away from his squad car. He shouldn’t have been chasing the bloody perp to begin with. All he did was slip out of the drunk tank. But no, he was DI Greg Lestrade and he didn’t let anything slip by his watch.

  
_Except a bleeding werewolf, Serial Turner_ , he berated himself.

  
“How many?” he asked softly.

  
_McTigue, Smithfield, Barnes, Caldwell, and Gregson, Sir. Gregson didn’t make it._

  
He sighed, exhaling slowly. In reality, none of them _made_ it. Gregson was the guard on duty tonight and he paid for it with his life. Wolves went for the throat. McTigue, Smithfield, Barnes, and Caldwell also paid the price, bravely stepping between a dangerous Wolf and his freedom, exchanging theirs in the process. He just hope that one of them got a good shot off. Bullet wounds took a long time to heal, even for Lupus sapiens.

  
God, he needed Sherlock. He’d even settle for Eddington, his unit’s K13. Both, however, were where they were required to be by law - in their transitional facilities. This break-out was obviously carefully planned.

  
_It was as if the bastard knew that the Holmes boys would be gone. Yes, Sherrinford avoided the hustle and bustle of the city (He had only met the youngest Holmes twice) and Mycroft usually supervised Baskerville on Full Moon nights since Sherrinford couldn’t in his four-legged state. But Sherlock, the rogue Alpha that ran his odd little human-based Pack, usually stayed in London to spend the Moon as Willie._

  
Gathering his courage, he opened all channels on his walkie. “Calling all units: We have a Code Moonlight. All units, be on the look out for a large, grey Wolf. Brown eyes, flecks of brown in the fur. Very dangerous - containment is our goal but take him out if necessary. Again: _This is a Code Moonlight_.”

  
Setting his radio, now a buzz with activity, aside, he reached for his mobile and punched in a number that he hoped would be answered. A familiar voice picked up on the third ring.

“Detective Inspector?”

“Mycroft,” he practically barked into the phone. “I’ve got some bad news, mate.”

  
He heard a pair of growls rise from the other end of the line. “You’re on speaker.”

  
“Evelyn?” he asked softly, not wanting to worry the young woman. His paternal instincts kicked in at the thought of the thirteen year old getting caught up in this.

  
“Asleep,” the army doctor responded. “What’s the bad news?”

  
“We’ve had a Code Moonlight.”

  
He could almost hear the collective shock. A sharp bark cut over the line ( _Sherlock, no doubt_ ). He continued his explanation, “I’m on patrol, not sure how it happened. He killed one and Bit four. Five good men - lives changed forever.”

  
There was a whine ( _Sherrinford, still guilty about setting this in motion_ ) and a low growl ( _Sherlock, pleased to be what he was_ ) on the other end. “Detective Inspector, I hope that your people are on this.” The lofty tones of Mycroft Holmes cut through the Wolves’ cacophony.

  
“All units are out on the hunt. We’re down a few good men though - it being tonight.”

  
“Hmmm, yes,” the British Government intoned. “I can see how that could be a problem.” Another sharp bark followed. “Oh, Brother, do shut up - you’ll wake Evelyn. There is nothing that you can do now.” A warning growl split the silence. Sherlock was not pleased. “We’ll be back in the morning. He’s smart but he won’t be able to hide - not this time.”  
____________________________________________

  
The morning yielded no results. The K9 units were ineffective. The scent of Wolf terrified the shepherds even when the men were still human. There must be something feral and dangerous about the scent that only the dogs could smell. Either way, with nearly the entire force scoping out one rogue and highly dangerous werewolf, no one could find him.

  
He clutched his eighth cup of coffee since the entire fiasco began, watching the rather massive Wolves pad through the precinct, one leash held by Mycroft, the other by John, probably fooling no one. Dogs just didn’t come in that size. He stood, grimacing at his tight and sore muscles and eyed the enormous, furred detective and what could only be his larger, natural born brother. “Morning,” he grumbled with a small twitch of his lips (A tired attempt at a smile), “Thanks for getting back here. I assume you want to see the cell first.”

  
The big heads nodded once, the lighter wolf ( _Sherrinford, he guessed_ ) disguised it as a sneeze. Sherlock did not, the pretense thinly veiled in the hope that no one was looking. “That’d be great, Greg,” John replied, gesturing him forward. “The boys can get the scent then.”

  
The cell was rife with St. Pierre’s odor. It had to be, with the blood message on the wall. It wasn’t Gregson’s, he had been killed - murdered - after the Moon would have taken the Wolf’s ability to write. The message, with the crusted rust color of the man’s blood, traced with hints of the shimmering mucous that was laced with dangerous DNA , was simple.

ENGLAND IS MINE

  
Sherlock’s hackles rose and he growled menacingly, his younger sibling joining him right after. Apparently, they believed that England was theirs. A glob of what appeared to be flesh covered the drain in the floor, a little red light blipping on and off. _St. Pierre’s tracker_. _Did he tear it out himself?_ Another pile of raw meat sat in the corner among smashed crockery (Though how the man was given something that breakable, he had no idea), the second, almost more terrifying note lying among them. The pair of Wolves spotted it, eyes narrowing as they read the deception. _Tonight_. Human eyes widened; their snarls deepened to a steady threat. Their nostrils flared wide as John shushed them, giving his Mate’s lead a firm shake. “Willie,” he warned before commanding, “Track.”

  
The pair fell silent, though their lips were still pulled back revealing their savage-looking teeth, their ears pinned against their wedge-shaped heads. The alpha broke free first, pulling John from the room hastily. Sherrinford, whom Mycroft referred to as Jack (John apparently being his ‘real’ first name), followed, his nose pressed to the ground.

  
It was then, as he chased behind the pair of four-legged men through the streets of London, that he realized that he _really_ was too old for this job. He was winded (Thankfully after Mycroft but before John - all those years of keeping up with Sherlock) after twenty minutes and his legs protested the abuse that he continued to give them. He was loathe to let the Pack out of sight. Even as he worked along side these men, his worry and fear of them (and more specifically St. Pierre and what he did) persisted.

  
The Wolves pulled eagerly on their leads as they wound through the streets, their steps taking them to the factory district and, ultimately, the sewer. _Of course_ , he mentally hissed, _Of course the oversized dog would go into the sewer_. It was the only place they hadn’t looked. Sherlock, never one to give up the chase, sneezed in an attempt to keep his nose clear as their pace slowed. Sherrinford whined, the sound echoing about them, not pleased to have his nose infiltrated by the rather horrendous stench of human waste.

  
John shot him a look, cocking an eyebrow as a hand reached around his back. Nodding once, he pulled his sidearm from his holster. Sherlock glared at his Mate pointedly, sitting to scratch at his collar, jangling the tags and the leash that the doctor still held. “Greg?” the shorter man asked.

  
“Yeah,” he said quietly, “If the bastard went out the other side, we’ll have to reattach. Official police business and all that.” The detective grinned, a rather frightening sight coming from his canine mouth, while his younger sibling simply nodded and sat, his head stopping uncomfortably at his mid-torso. _These blokes really are huge_ , he thought, not even bending to unsnap the thick leather lead. “Alright gents,” he commanded in his most authoritative tone, “Let’s go get the bastard.”

  
With a sharp huff, the consulting detective was first into the tunnel, followed quickly by his younger sibling. The pair was quickly swallowed up by the darkness, only the sound of their trot through the runny waste punctuating their location. It was rather disgusting, slogging through muck and seeped into your shoes and soaked your trousers. At least he had that barrier - the Wolves were doing this in bare feet, the coats on their underbellies filling with it. St. Pierre was a real genius for choosing to run through here. No one in their right minds would follow him.

  
Progress was slow. The filthy water and thick waste slowing their already tired steps. John plowed ahead, his torch lighting the walls eerily, casting long shadows. His own torch, held along his gun barrel, only revealed tributary tunnels, rats, and piles of shit. “We should check these smaller side tunnels,” he muttered to the two men beside him, knowing that the tunnel would carry his soft statement to the Wolves. “If I was hiding, I’d be in one of those, not in the main drag.”

  
Mycroft Holmes, looking surprisingly comfortable with a Browning in his hand, gave him a sharp nod and gestured to one of the side tunnels before pointing to himself. _He wants that one_ , the DI reasoned, and replied with a single nod. John likewise picked a tunnel and plunged in, leaving him standing alone in the suddenly dim and silent sewer wondering if splitting up was such a great idea.

  
His fears were quickly realized when a ghostly howl ( _Not Sherlock’s_ ) filled the tunnel. Two large, squalid bodies went barreling past him and into the tunnel that John had claimed. A gunshot, echoing about the pipes, reached his ears and he was running, sprinting through the slop to get to the doctor and what he now guessed to be three massive werewolves. Howls rent the air, punctuated by snapping jaws and menacing growls. Human shouts and screams made him run faster, tripping and falling through the muck until his torch lit the scene.

  
John was nearly obscured by the flying fur about him. He was screaming inhumanly, pressed against one of the rounded walls of the tunnel that appeared to be a scarlet color. _Blood_. The question was, whose?

  
The grey wolf, their escaped mastermind, was being pulled back by the darker Holmes brother, his powerful jaws latched around the other wolf’s kicking back right leg. Sherrinford was frantically scrambling to put his body between that of the human man and the serial werewolf turner, his side scraped by the other beast’s claws as his own connected with the heaving sides of the rival wolf. St. Pierre’s neck was being pulled long and exposed, Sherlock’s attempts at pulling him back succeeding. The grey wolf’s jaws refused to let go of their prize, however, as ruby blood gushed from Watson’s shoulder and the man screamed again. Seeing his opportunity, the younger Holmes dove, latching onto the neck of the Canadian werewolf and bit forcibly. St. Pierre growled, the sound coming out as strangled, the air bubbling and hissing.

  
The position left the rogue Wolf’s body open for him to take a shot, inhaling slowly, Greg raised his sidearm and leveled it at the beast’s chest, hoping the bullet would weaken the brute at worst, and puncture a lung at best. His hopes were realized as the projectile punched through the grey wolf’s ribcage and the animal’s jaws let go of the doctor’s shoulder. Sherrinford, casting him a quick glance before deferring to his Alpha, did not let go. Sherlock dropped the hind leg and growled low in his throat. With what came across as grim satisfaction, the younger wolf gave his head a violent shake, snapping the grey wolf’s neck.

  
Sherlock was already on top of John, nudging him to remain upright, covering the wound with his own heavy head to slow the bleeding. Sherrinford howled, pressing closer to the very pale, shivering army doctor, giving him support and warmth.

  
Lestrade pulled out his walkie and began to bark orders. “We need medics. STAT. Sewage tunnel at the corner of Lexington and Brixton on the Thames. We’ll need a transfusion ready. We’ll also need a coroner and a body bag - We got the bastard.”


	10. Chapter 9: The One Responsible

Hospitals, even one that had been modified for his own patients, were not places he enjoyed. The location of this one, while slightly comforting, also set him on edge. But, in truth, he did not know what the man lying on the bed would do. What could become of him. _The poster child for why Wolves are dangerous…_

  
John Watson had gotten some of his color back; for that he was grateful. The wound had also begun to heal, not as rapidly as if he were transitioning, but not as slowly as he would have liked. It was far from human. And therein lay the problem. Wolf bites, when not acted on by the Moon’s power, were painful and achy and notoriously prone to infection. It’d leave a beastly scar from it’s faster-than-average healing, and, due to it’s horrid location, could cause movement problems in the joint. T _his never would have happened if I’d never come back. This injury is my fault._

  
Slowly, he walked into the upper bedroom of 221B, the hum and whir of the machines setting him even more on edge. Sherlock, who had barely left his Mate’s side, raised his furry head and gave a low whine. “I know,” he murmured. “All vital signs are strong and this is John we’re talking about. He has too much to live for to stay asleep for much longer. I’d guess tomorrow will be the day.”

  
Settling his head back down, the detective lay protectively over the prone form of the army doctor, warming him with his body heat and fur. The Wolf’s verdigris eyes followed his every movement as he checked the human’s vitals, making notes in his file, and changed the bedpan. “I’ll be back in a few hours,” he said, pausing at the door, “Alert me if anything changes or if you need a break.”

  
The Alpha gave a small nod before returning his attention to the man beneath him, his heavy head resting on the older man’s rising and falling chest. The sight made his heart ache. Slowly, he shut the door, and sighed. This was all his fault. If he had been rational, St. Pierre would never have learned of England’s lack of Pack and he never would have come. None of those men would have been Turned, no lives would have been lost, and John Hamish Watson would be whole and happy, not some question mark hovering over their unusual Pack unit. As much as Molly told him otherwise, he knew that this was his fault and that he was responsible.

  
His feet led him across the hallway to 221C. Evelyn was sitting at the kitchen table, her homework spread out around her. Her large, blue eyes rose to meet his face. “How is he, Uncle Ford?” she asked quietly.

  
“The same,” he replied, forcing a comforting smile to come to his thin lips. “Sherlock is still with him.”

  
“He’s still...?”

  
“Yes.” He knew that the girl was wondering if the detective had reverted back to his human form, but Mates stayed together, it was a natural instinct. And so, Sherlock was responding naturally, consoling his human Mate in his rather more agreeable and comforting (and dangerous) form. “How was school today?”

  
“Fine,” his niece replied quietly, returning her attention to her homework. _Just like her father_ , he noted, _Burying her feelings in her work_. “The debate’s in two days.”

  
“Oh.” He had forgotten about the debate surrounding his eldest brother’s controversial law that ruled the lives of both himself and his other brother. “Which side do you take?” The teen had been through so much regarding his people in the last few days that he was no long sure if she would condemn them or stand by them.

  
The young woman sighed and rested her forehead in her hands. “I’m not sure. I’m so conflicted. On one hand, a Lupus sapiens put my father into a coma. On the other, I can’t condemn a whole species because of the actions of one person. Not to mention the fact that two of the people that I care the most about are werewolves. I couldn’t do that to you or to Uncle Sherlock.”

  
“It all depends on what is in your gut, Darling,” he said, sitting across from the girl. “Either way, we’ll still love you, Evy. And that is a promise.” He smiled, lips pressed together firmly. He reached across the worn wood of the table and rubbed the blonde woman’s arm reassuringly. “What would you like for dinner?”

  
“Chinese?” Evelyn asked hopefully, smiling up at him. He beamed back, his worries forgotten for a while.

  
“Sure. I’ll give them a call. Would you like your usual?”  
________________________________________

  
Dinner consumed, dishes washed, Evy back at her homework, Sherrinford left to check on John and to let Sherlock out of the room to use the loo and to (potentially) eat something. A soft yip reached his ears, making him pick up his pace. He opened the door to the spare bedroom to find an awake but groggy John Watson. Sherlock was nuzzling him, still laying on top of the human doctor like a fur rug. “John!” he said cheerfully, grabbing his file, “Welcome back to the land of the living. How are you feeling?”

  
“Shur’n-f’rd?” the other man mumbled, blinking tiredly. Sherlock nudged him again. “Sh’lock.” The man’s fingers found the Wolf’s curly ruff and his lips curled into a small smile. His blue eyes, however, quickly returned to the standing vet. With a tight-lipped smile, he offered the ill man a bit of water to help him continue. John accepted, drinking through the straw before murmuring, “I feel…okay. My shoulder’s aching, stiff. I’m a bit hungry. How long...?”

  
“Just three days,” he replied. “Not bad. Your shoulder’s healing quickly but not Lupus sapiens quick. I suspect that, so long as you strive to keep the area clean, infection shouldn’t set in. Besides a bit of pain and maybe some limited mobility for a short while, I’m hopeful that it’s nothing but left over effects from the attack. We gave you a transfusion, which may have helped to flush the venom, and thus the stinging pain, from your system. Of course, you were bitten under the sun, the day after a Full Moon, so you won’t Shift and shouldn’t exhibit any wolfish effects. You should take it easy for another week or so, just to protect your shoulder but I expect a full recovery.”

  
The other man’s brow was furrowed and Sherlock rumbled, unhappy that he was placing commands on his Mate. Slowly, the doctor nodded. “That seems reasonable to me, Sherrinford.” The man in the bed looked past him. “Evelyn?”

  
“She’s worried about you, of course, but she’s been keeping up with her school work. I’ve been taking care of her for you, though she’s really been taking care of herself - she’s quite a remarkable young woman, John.” He smiled broadly, lips closed. “Would you like to see her?”

  
The other man nodded, his fingers pulling and carding his Mate’s fur. With a quick nod, he exited the room and went back to 221C. “Evy!” he called, “Your father’s awake and he’d like to see you!”

  
The teen sprang from her chair, causing it to crash to the floor, and rushed past him. “Daddy!” the girl shouted.

  
“Angel?!” the doctor responded hoarsely.

  
“Daddy! I’m so glad that you’re awake!”

  
“Me too, Evelyn. Me too. Though I’m glad that Uncle Sherrinford took such good care of you.” He could hear the smile in the other man’s voice, which made him flush with pride.

  
“Yeah, he’s really great, Daddy.” There was a pause. “Though not nearly as good as you.” _What a brown-noser_ , he chuckled to himself. He heard a low growl from his sibling. “Or you, Uncle Sherlock.” Evelyn laughed, probably because the detective had licked her.

  
Sensing that he was not needed right now ( _Or until the next Moon, most likely_ ), he slipped into the loo, neatly stacked his clothes, and shifted. It was more comfortable to sleep as a Wolf on the carpet than to curl up on the sofa in his lanky human body. With a quick shake, letting his scent fill the bathroom, he nudged the door open and loped into the sitting room. Taking some time to find a comfy spot on the carpet, he curled up and laid his head on his forepaws, drifting into a dreamless sleep.

  
He woke some time later, the sound of feet reaching his ears. Looking up, he found that, not only had Evelyn returned, but her father had come as well. He was pleased to see that he was supported by the still furry form of his brother and his daughter. He gave his tail a small wag as he raised his head.

  
“I’m just going to eat and use the loo,” John said. “Then back to bed, I promise.” He nodded, showing that he understood. Hunkering down again, he curled tighter around himself and let sleep take him.   
______________________________________

  
He woke the following morning to the sound of breakfast being consumed, the scent of toast and jam reaching his nostrils. He rose slowly, a bit stiff from a night on the floor, and stretched.

  
“Good morning.” His elder sibling had apparently reverted to his two-legged form. He yawned, revealing his impressive teeth.

  
“Oh, good,” Evelyn chimed in, “I’m glad you’re awake, Uncle Ford!” The girl smiled at him, offering a hand. He placed his head beneath it, allowing her fingers to play through the soft, short fur there as well as over his ears, which she tugged playfully. “I’ve taken a side. And I’d like you to come to the debate. If Ms. Crowley is alright with it.”

  
He cocked his head, slightly confused as to why his niece would want him to be present at a debate that greatly effected him personally. He nodded anyway, his eyebrow muscle still cocked. “Great!” the teen responded, beaming broadly, “I’ll ask my professor.”


	11. Chapter 10: The Advocate and the Wolf

The problem was posted on the blackboard.

  
_Should there be special laws governing the Lupus sapiens?_

  
_Is the current Law fair, giving them equal rights to humans?_

  
_Should they, as a species, be regulated?_

  
Evelyn tugged at her jumper nervously. After the report of St. Pierre’s escape and attacks five days previous, most of her classmates had chosen to cast the blame for his actions on the entire community. She felt as if she was standing alone, her note cards clutched in her hands.

  
The door behind her opened, allowing the slim body of her youngest uncle to slide into the room. He smiled, lips pressed together as usual, and gave her a little wave before turning to greet Ms. Crowley. She noted his nostril flare was well as his sudden eyebrow raise. His blue eyes widened briefly before he composed himself and offered a hand to her teacher with a tight lipped smile.

  
“Dr. Sherrinford Holmes,” he said, oozing charm, “Thank you for having me today.”

  
The woman (Most likely in her late twenties or early thirties) blushed, taking his hand. “Imogen Crowley. Thank you for coming, though, I must say that this debate will make you wish that you hadn’t.”

  
He smiled again, turning his head to give her a wink. “Well, I think Evelyn will give everyone a run for their money.” She beamed, reshuffling her cards, and stood up straighter. If her uncle believed in her, then she knew that she could at least given them a good fight.

  
Gesturing to the seat next to her, Ms. Crowley began the class. “Ladies and Gentlemen, I’d like to introduce our guest today. This is Dr. Sherrinford Holmes, one of the leading experts in the study of Lupus Sapiens. Dr. Holmes, before we begin our debate, would you mind enlightening us to some of your own thoughts on the subject matter?”

  
Her uncle smiled and stood, waving away the brief applause. “Thank you for having me, Ms. Crowley. I would like to say that, while the Lupus sapiens have times of inhuman thought and behavior, there is one very consistent variable. Once reminded of their humanity, of their ‘regular’ lives, theses men are, in fact, very human. When debating something that is Law, one must first look at it in terms of one that is effected by it. If you were born with the condition, or, heaven forbid, Bitten and became a Lupus sapiens, would you feel _human_ when subject to the Laws in place at this time? Or would you feel different - a pariah or an outcast in what you once called your community? When I was asked about this debacle, I had to place myself in the shoes of my patients. I ask that you do the same in this debate and please remember that there is no right or wrong side to be on, so long as your decision is informed. Thank you.”

  
Her uncle sat, giving her a sharp nod and a quick smile before turning back to her teacher. “Alright class,” the young woman said, still flushed from her uncle’s attentions, “You heard the expert: Opening arguments please.”  
_ _ _ _ _

  
The trip to Evelyn’s class had been interesting. She had been better prepared than any of her other classmates, though that certainly didn’t surprise him. He knew that she would give her peers something to think about, at least. He just hoped that she had changed their minds. They were the future, after all. It would be their prejudices that ruled the coming generations.

  
But, the moment he had opened the door the most beautiful, delicious, and miraculous aroma flooded his senses and all thoughts of truly focusing on his niece were gone. The bouquet’s source was a small, finely boned woman with jet black hair and enchanting green eyes. She was dressed smartly in a slate grey blouse and a black pencil skirt that stopped just below her knee.

  
_Primroses. Clean, pure water. Honey, raw from the comb. Books - glue, paper, and ink_.

  
How heavenly a combination that was. And how completely distracting. He was drawn to the woman - Imogen Crowley. A beautiful name for a stunning woman. She was intelligent and she seemed to support the Lupus sapiens. She seemed like she was interested in him, at least physically. He could feel his instincts rising as the class wore on. _Mate?_ he sniffed again, his ears picking up on the woman’s steady breathing and her firm heartbeat. _Make her mine._

  
As the class filed out, he gave Evelyn a wave and a smile. “I will meet you in the hallway, Darling,” he said proudly. The teen beamed at him, her teeth flashing. _Such a Pup_ , he thought, his instincts humming.

  
He cleared his throat. “Thank you, Ms. Crowley, for allowing me to sit in on your class today. It was fascinating.” _But not in the way that I had originally intended it to be._

  
The woman smiled at him, her cheeks coloring into a beautiful shade of pink that caused her eyes to shine brilliantly. “It was my pleasure, Dr. Holmes.” Her smile deepened as she broke eyes contact and tilted her head, flushing, exposing her ivory neck. “It is so rare for my students to be exposed to people who are making history. It was kind of you to come in and donate your time.”

  
“Please,” he replied tenderly, “Call me Sherrinford, Ms. Crowley.”

  
Her blush deepened. “Then I insist that you call me Imogen.”

  
“Alright,” he said, tasting the next word on his lips before he voiced it, “Imogen.” He offered a hand. “It’s been a pleasure.” She took his hand, her smile slipping a bit as she shook it and dropped her own. “It may seem forward of me,” he said softly, averting his own gaze before refocusing on her eyes, “But, may I ask you to dinner? Maybe on Friday?”

  
The teacher smiled brightly, her exposed teeth not even setting him on edge like it usually did. “I would like that,” she murmured.

  
“Wonderful,” he replied, feeling his own cheeks flush with pleasure. “How is 6:30 at Angelo’s?”

  
“Sounds perfect, Sherrinford,” she replied, giving him a wave as he slowly backed through the door and closed it firmly behind him.

  
“What was that about?” the voice of his niece reached his ears before her scent, garbled by those of the other humans in the hallway, reached his nose. She bumped her hip into his leg playfully.

  
He grinned down at her. She was beautiful - by far his favorite niece (though Lucy was so young and he had spent so little time with her, it was difficult to claim otherwise). Her blonde hair had a light curl to it and her eyes matched his, a dancing blue. His brother was lucky to have such a wonderful pup through his connection to his Mate. Maybe, thinking about the woman he had just left behind, he would be lucky too.

  
He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and gave her a one-armed hug. “Believe it or not, Darling, but I think I may have just gotten a date with your Ms. Crowley.”

  
“What?” she exclaimed, taking three strides to match his one as they exited the building, “You did not just ask my professor on a date!”

  
“And what if I did?” he shot back, processing her surprise and slight embarrassment that carried through her voice and her thrumming veins.

  
“What about...” She stopped, scanning about them before leaning in conspiratorially. “ _The werewolf thing?_ ” she whispered. “ _Isn’t it forever?_ ”

  
“Yes,” he answered honestly with a small shrug, “But so is traditional marriage.”

  
“Are you going to tell her?”

  
He should have known that that question was coming. Friday was well away from the Full Moon. It was also only the first date - she didn’t really have to know. He could gage it and tell her if things seemed to be progressing. It would, however, have to come up at some point early in their relationship. He could not hide what made him distinctly himself.

  
“I have a feeling that I won’t be telling her. At least, not yet. I have to discuss it with your Uncle Sherlock first.”

  
“Actually,” the teen said, flushing and scuffing her toe along the pavement, “I have been wanting to ask you something. About Mates.”

  
His brow furrowed. “Sure, Evy. Anything.”

  
“Is Uncle Sherlock like my Dad?” It came out of her mouth in a tumble. “Do you think I could call him Pop? Would he like that? I mean, I know that he and Daddy are Mates - which means that they’re like married in the eyes of other Wolves and I’ve always wanted two parents. Do you think that’d be okay?”

  
He was floored and slightly confused to say the least. It was an odd conversation to be having with his niece about his brother and his brother’s platonic Mate. “Well, that is probably not a question to ask me. That’s a question for Sherlock. He and your father are Mates, it’s true, but not in the traditional sense. Mates are people that complete each other and cannot function without the other, again, something that is very true of your father’s relationship with my brother. However, the relationship is in word only, as it hasn’t been consummated or made legally binding. That’s because that, while your father and Sherlock care for each other deeply, they are not marital partners. Um...” He rubbed the back of his neck. “What I’m trying to say is that you have to ask Sherlock. Only he can define the relationship that you two have.”

  
“Oh.” It was a rather morose and depressed sounding exhale. He squeezed his niece’s arm tightly, drawing her into his side.

  
Knowing that the teenage years were an extremely vulnerable time, he murmured, “I think, Evelyn, that anyone would be glad to have you call them Pop. To have you in their lives as a daughter. I do think that he will say yes, but you do have to ask him first.” He ruffled the blonde head beside him before changing the subject. “How about some ice cream? I think the debate winner deserves a treat, don’t you?”

  
“ _Oooh!_ ” the teen shrieked with delight, “Yes, please and thank you!” With that, the Wolf found himself being pulled down the street by the hand, his niece leading the way to her favorite ice cream shop.  
_________________________________________

  
Dinner proved to be the rehashing of the conversation that he had had with the young woman earlier in the day.

  
“Pop.” Sherlock rolled the title about in his mouth like a wad of chewing gum. He popped both P’s with relish. “That makes me sound like an old man,” he grumbled.

  
Evelyn looked down at the table, rolling her food about her plate as her cheeks flamed in humiliation. “ _Sherlock_ ,” John stated firmly, his eyes hard but understanding. No one knew Sherlock quite like the army doctor.

  
The detective shot his Mate an equally hard look before softening his gaze to look at the young woman. “Evelyn,” the dark haired man said softly, “It is not that I do not want to be your second parent. I do consider it to be an honor that you asked. I am sure that your Uncle Mycroft could run up some papers, set up a legal guardianship. However, I think that you could just call me Sherlock. That way I am not called by some name a grandfather would be glad to be known by.”

  
“Really?” The blonde girl’s face lit up and her sparkling eyes found the heterochromia of the Turned wolf. “You want to be my second father? Sherlock?”

  
“Yes, of course.” Smiling, he reached a hand across the table to squeeze the little girl’s hand. “I’ve considered you mine since I returned to London and learned of your existence. You are too special for me to ignore, too fascinating. Just like your father.” His smile twitched into it’s amused smirk as the little girl blushed fiercely. Her father’s tanned skin also gained more color. Slowly, if not a bit hesitantly, the doctor bridged the gap between himself and the other man, placing his hand on the taller man’s shoulder with a small smile. Sherlock jumped a bit, still not used to physical contact as a human, but he returned the gesture, placing his own hand over his Mate’s, his smirk falling from his lips. His unusual eyes flickered to the face of the older man, exuding an odd scent that made his own nostrils flare.

  
_Oh_ , Sherrinford thought, raising his eyebrows, _That **is** interesting_.  
___________________________________________

  
After Evelyn had gone to bed, her favorite stuffed animal that looked like Sherlock tucked in her arms, the three men sat at the dinner table with cups of tea grasped in their hands. The couple ( _In all but consummation_ ) sat next to each other, hands unconsciously wrapped around each other, their fingers intertwined. John rested his head on his Mate’s shoulder and Sherlock rested his curls on the top of John’s greying head.

  
“I have something that we need to discuss,” he whispered, looking at the happiness of the two men before focusing his attentions on his cup and the hot liquid within it.

  
“What is it?” his brother snapped, his nostrils flared defensively. _There is much more happening there than he’s letting on; he’s a bit too overprotective_. John elbowed him sharply in the ribs making the other man yip in indignation.

  
“This is important, Sherlock, or I would not be bringing this up right now.” He tried to keep his voice low and calm, knowing that his brother was on edge. He shifted a bit in his seat and gulped a large swallow of tea. “I am going on a date on Friday. I think that she may be my Mate.”

  
“What?” Sherlock stood, averting his attention from the older man and onto him.

  
“How do you know?” John countered at the same time.

  
He shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck and tilting it a bit to the left, before he exhaled forcefully. His Pack Alpha, his older brother, did not know the ways of their people. He was still learning, of that he was certain. He had a Mate, their bond growing deeper as the years passed, as their love grew and attraction began to take hold. Sherlock and John knew of this, of course, except for the latter bit. However, they did not understand how such a bond is initially established.

  
“I can _smell_ it on her,” he said quietly, diverting his gaze from the Alpha couple of his Pack as his cheeks flushed. “Her scent is so intoxicating, so distracting. I just want it with me. All the time. Everywhere I go. I need it to function to live.” He looked up at the couple across from him, narrowing his eyes. “Surely you understand? Surely you can feel it, growing within yourselves? It’s been getting stronger since the attack. I can sense it, smell it. Can’t you Sherlock?”

  
“She’s not a Wolf,” Sherlock observed, his heterochromic eyes fixing on his face.

  
“No,” he whispered, again tilting his head to his Alpha. “But I ask that you give me the opportunity to tell her - about me, about us - if she proves trustworthy. If my nose - my body is being honest with me.” He looked up, feeling like a pup that was being scolded for playing with his Alpha’s tail. “I hope it’s true.” He inhaled shakily. “I’ve been alone for so long. My biological imperative isn’t to be alone even if I deserve to be.”

  
“Don’t say that,” John whispered, shaking his head. “You have paid time and time again for the mistakes you made all those years ago. I really hope you found someone. I can’t imagine my life without Sherlock. I just hope that this woman understands.”

  
“This is a huge risk.” The consulting detective had his hands placed under his chin, his gaze was calculated. “But...” The other man cocked an eyebrow. “I wish you happiness. You do deserve it, baby brother. I just hope that she is worthy of you and our trust.”


	12. Chapter 11: The Teacher

The reflection that looked back at her was disappointing to say the least. She had ink on her cheek that was stubbornly refusing to come off, despite multiple washes and the shower. Her foundation, something that she really disliked wearing, made it look like a wine-colored stain on her skin. With a sigh, she applied her eyeliner and mascara, allowing her green eyes to pop under her raven hair, which hung loose about her shoulders in light waves.

  
She sighed. “What am I doing?” The doctor - Sherrinford Holmes - was so good looking. Tall with coppery, auburn hair and deep blue eyes that seemed to hold the knowledge of how the world worked. He nobly fought to protect and aid the outsider while members of her family shut them out. “How did I catch his eye?” She shook heard head, jumping at the sound of a solid knock on her flat’s door.

  
Her eyes widened. “He’s here,” she breathed. Quickly, she fluffed her hair again and yelled over her shoulder. “Coming!”

  
She slipped her wedges on, knowing that they made her legs look longer ( _God, I am so short_ ), and rushed to the entryway. Stopping, to calm her racing heart, she slowly opened the door.

  
The most handsome man in the world stood just outside her door, an amused grin on his face that quickly dissipated into a genuine smile. He was wearing a fitted navy suit with a crisp, white shirt and no tie. His hands grasped a bouquet of primroses and lilies, his long fingers tapping on the stems in a discordant rhythm. “Hello Imogen,” he said softly, his voice sending shivers down her spine. “You look stunning this evening.” He paused, his nostrils flaring slightly. “These are for you.” He offered her the flowers a bit sheepishly.

  
She smiled, taking the blooms and ducking her head to smell them. Their aroma was intoxicating. “Thank you so much,” she replied, turning from the door. “Please, come in while I put these into water.”

  
She hoped that her back looked as good as her front as she rushed to the kitchen. “Make yourself comfortable,” she called over her shoulder. “I’ll only be a minute.” The water rushed from the tap, filling a tall glass with the cool liquid.

  
“Take your time,” the man called back. A quick glance behind her told her that her date was waiting patiently for her just inside her doorway, his wise and incredibly blue eyes scanning her flat as a small smile played at his lips. _A gentleman_ , she thought to herself, smiling.

  
His lips, thin and kissable, pulled into a kind smile. “You have a lovely home.”

  
She certainly liked to think so, though she definitely didn’t have the time, energy, or money to put into making it as special as she’d like. Most of the furniture was secondhand and the paint that clung to the walls was a bit drab and chipped in places, but it was home.

  
She set the flowers in their glass on the counter and turned back to the towering man in her doorway. “Thank you so much.” She beamed at him, noting that he flushed a bit, his lips pressed together in a wide grin.

  
“Shall we?” he asked, his rich voice setting her blood on fire, her cheeks vibrantly flushing.

  
“Yes, please,” she replied, maybe a bit too enthusiastically.

  
Sherrinford stepped a bit to the side and gestured her out the door before stepping back and allowing her to lock her flat. She could feel his gaze on her, though his eyes flickered back and forth along the hallway, as if watching for something. Noticing her attention, he smiled again. _I have yet to see his teeth_ , she realized, tucking the odd information away to dissect later.

  
“How was your day?” he asked, offering her his arm as they headed toward the bottom floor and the street. “Judging from the ink on your cheek, I’d guess that you had a student that gave you a bit of trouble.”

  
Her hand flew to the spot on her cheek with a gasp and she pulled away. Her eyes wide, she stammered, “Exploding pen…Is it that noticeable?”

  
“Oh, no!” the veterinarian interjected, holding his hands up as if trying to calm an animal. “I think that, ink or no, you look absolutely stunning this evening. I am lucky to have you on my arm.” His head tilted to the left slightly, exposing his long, pale column of neck.  
“Why do you do that?” she asked, her hand still covering her cheek and the atrocious ink blot that resided there.

  
His brow furrowed, head tilting to the other side. “Do what?”

  
“Tip your head like that. And smile with your lips pressed together?” He offered her one of those smiles and scratched the back of his neck sheepishly.

  
He chuckled, a breathy ‘ehehe.’ “I, um, study Lupus sapiens,” he replied, diverting his gaze. “I work with them in close proximity and I’ve picked up on some of their mannerisms. Showing teeth is a threat, exposing your neck is being passive, allowing someone else to be in charge.” He paused, his face growing worried. “Does that bother you?” He held out his hand, summoning a cab in an instant.

  
She shook her head, climbing into the backseat of the vehicle. “No,” she replied honestly, “It’s just a bit peculiar. It just seems like you don’t know you do it.”

  
He flushed and bowed his head, embarrassed. “I don’t.” He slid into the seat beside her, averting his gaze to his feet. “I’m sorry.”

  
She placed a hand on his shoulder, causing him to jump a bit. “It’s not a problem!” she chuckled. “That’s why you’re the leading expert on the Lupus sapiens and I’m getting splattered by an exploding pen!”

  
He grinned, his teeth slipping out before his lips pressed together again. “I fear that I’ve been splattered by much worse than ink, though my patients are usually less verbal than the people you deal with on a daily basis. I don’t know if I could deal with young teenagers. All the hormones...”

  
“I really love them!” she replied, flushing. “The hormones are what make them so much fun!”

  
“I can’t tell if you’re being honest or sarcastic,” he said, slightly confused by her enthusiasm.

  
“Honest!” she shot back, beaming. “They’re becoming little people. It’s all about self-discovery. That must be true with your patients, right?”

  
He shook his head, chuckling a bit at her train of thought. “You are so right. I never thought of it that way.”  
__________________________________

  
The date went brilliantly. Sherrinford was the perfect gentleman, opening doors for her, paying the bill. He had even walked her to her door, where she fumbled with her keys, asking for a kiss. She would not have been upset if he had snogged her right there in the hallway, but, instead he pressed a delicate kiss to her cheek. “May I call on you again?” he murmured, his blue eyes wide and innocent. _God, he is incredible_ , she thought.

  
“I’d really like that,” she murmured back, tucking her hair behind her ear, knowing that she was blushing.

  
“Wonderful!” her date responded, flushing. “I’ll call you tomorrow, if that’s alright?”

“That would be great,” she said, turning her keys in the lock and opening her flat door. “I will be looking forward to it.”

  
“Cheers,” the tall man said with a bright smile before he captured her hand and placed another kiss, barely firmer than a breath, onto it. “Good night.” With one last smile, he turned and headed for the stairs.

  
“Good night!” she called after him, her face hot with the fierce blush it was sporting. Slipping into her flat, she closed the door firmly behind her and flicked the light on. “Oh, my God, Imogen! He’s _so perfect!_ ”

  
She slid down the door, her kissed hand pressed to her pecked cheek. He told her about his childhood abroad - boarding school - where he had lived with a great uncle whom had died the year he moved home to England for good. It had been a lonely childhood, he said. He had few friends, most of them were in school with him, but he spent summers in the German countryside with his uncle. He had revealed to her that it was through the man’s acquaintances that he had been exposed to the Lupus sapiens and had developed the desire to study them.  
She, in turn, had told him about her childhood which was as lonely as his. She was the younger child of two and her parents doted on her. She had always wanted to be with other children, as her older brother never let her tag along. It was probably why she became a teacher and it was why she wanted her own children someday. Sherrinford, the youngest of three, had grinned at that, saying that he was glad to have two brothers, even if the eldest could be an overbearing busybody and the middle child was, well...apparently there were no words to accurately describe Sherlock Holmes besides ‘giant git.’ Despite the fact that his two elder siblings were certainly not typical, the veterinarian said that he couldn’t imagine life without them now that he had returned home for good.

  
_Hopefully_ , she thought, _I’ll be able to meet them soon. They seem really interesting_. Needless to say, she was intrigued by the Holmes family (And through them, the Watson family), and she was totally in love with Sherrinford Holmes.


	13. Chapter 12: The DI

_Another day, another crime scene_. He took a long draft from his coffee, already dreading the rest of the day. The sun had barely breached the horizon and he had been called in. Apparently, it was an emergency. Apparently, he was the only DI who could handle this particular case. He shot a glance over at Eddington, who had just arrived as well, a cup of equally black coffee in his hands.

  
The K13 gave him a sharp nod before the pair of them made their way to the tape that stretched around the dilapidated two-story house. As they passed the boundary, Eddington stopped suddenly, nostrils flared. “Eddington?” Lestrade asked, noting the flared nostrils of the Lupus sapiens. It was the day after the New Moon, so his senses wouldn’t be as acute as they were closer to the Full Moon, but they were present nonetheless. “What is it?”

  
The man’s brow furrowed. “Werewolf,” the man responded, stunned. “And a lot of blood.”

  
“You think a _Wolf_ did this?” the older man said picking up the pace and entering the house at a clip. The wall paper, old and from the 1970s, was faded and peeling from the walls. The floors were scarred, long scratches running the length, as if there were many dogs ( _Or Wolves_ ) running about the place.

  
“This way, Sir,” one of the officers ( _Morris_ ) said, gesturing him into the side room.

  
The room, a sitting room complete with chairs and end tables, had blood splattered on the walls, painting their light blue paint with scarlet drops. The carpet, an old, moth-eaten Parisian rug had been a light blue and brown pattern, was now a deep navy, soaked with blood. The body that was sprawled in the middle of the room was relatively young, only mid-thirties by his estimate. He had been shot twice: Once in the chest and once in the head.

  
Sliding shoe covers over his feet, he moved closer to the body and squatted down. Grimly, he slid on a pair of gloves and began to search the corpse for any distinguishing features. “Do we have an ID on our vic?” he asked, as the pockets turned up with nothing.

  
“Check the neck, Sir,” Morris said from the doorway. “It’s one of _them_ \- sorry Eddington.”

  
The K13 scowled. “He’s Lupus sapiens,” the Wolf murmured. “The scent _is_ really strong. It’s blocking the scent of the murderer. Unless _it’s_ Lupus sapiens, too.”

  
The DI slowly, almost tenderly, pulled on the chain around the victim’s neck and released the tangle of tags.

  
STEVENSON, TREVOR A.  
34 ACRE AVENUE  
BRIXTON, LONDON, UK  
LUPUS SAPIEN  
dob: 5/17/1985  
dot: 3/15/2016

  
“Shit,” he murmured, running a hand through his hair as the other grasped the tags. “ _Shit!_ ” He turned towards Eddington and ordered, “Get me the Holmes Brothers. I need Sherlock on scene immediately and Sherrinford needs to be informed that one of his Pack is gone.”

  
“ _His **Pack**?_ ” Morris reiterated, her eyebrows raised to her hairline.

  
“ _Yes_ ,” Eddington cut in. “He may be human but he’s our undeniable leader. He’s our vet, our psychologist. Our Alpha. Alpha’s run Packs, that’s what they do.”

  
Lestrade sent the younger officer a grateful smile, glad that he had covered for the other man, but then he realized that the K13 didn’t know about Sherrinford Holmes the Natural Born werewolf. _The one that had started it all_. “Eddington,” he said, trying to get his confidence back, “Try to find me a scent besides Stevenson and blood. We have a murderer to find.”

  
He stood and exited the room, peeling gloves and shoe covers off as he went. This was bad, he knew. He wondered if the murderer knew that he, or she, had killed a Lupus sapiens. He prayed that it was not the case. Someone hunting werewolves was going to be a major problem.  
_ _ _ _ _

  
“Where?” Sherlock was brusque to say the least, his strides eating the ground between the cab (Where he’d left John to pay - again) and the run-down house. Someone had not had a very good New Moon, apparently.

  
“Inside,” he replied just as tersely, “Sitting Room on the right. It’s a Lupus Sapiens, Sherlock.”

  
That gave the man pause. “ _What?_ ” he asked, his eyes darkening dangerously, the Wolf flashing within them. “Repeat that again for me. _Slowly_.”

  
“It’s Trevor Stevenson. He’s one of Sherrinford’s.”

  
“Where is my brother?” The detective asked, sweeping into the building with a swirl of his Belstaff, his mobile already in his hand, his thumb rapidly moving over the keys. “He should be here if it’s one of his.”

“He’s on his way,” he replied, “Called him right after you.”

  
“Good.” The consulting detective was terse as he squatted down next to Stevenson. His hands traveled along the body, making notes about it. “Besides the obvious that you can see from this tag, this man was a janitor as you can tell by the callous patterns on his right hand as well as the grime under his fingernails. Had been since he was Turned, most likely. Prior to, my best guess is that he was an up-and-coming broker. His clothing is old but too nice to belong to a man on a cleaner’s salary. Judging from the state of the floor, he had a habit of transforming outside of the Moon, so he was relatively comfortable with his new status as a designated ‘Other.’ He was shot in the chest first, but nothing vital was hit, the bullet passed straight through, and he had begun to heal almost immediately. The murderer then shot him in the head. Damage was irreversible. From the angle of the entry wounds, our killer is approximately five foot eight to five foot ten, making it most likely male. Since there appears to be no forced entry, the victim knew the murderer well enough to invite him in or give him a key. Or the idiot left the door unlocked…unlikely.”

  
The Wolf sniffed, knowing that he was alone with the body and the two men that knew his secret. Instantly, an eyebrow cocked. “John,” he said standing again and stepping back from the body, nostrils flared, head swinging back and forth, “Tell me what you think.”

  
The doctor simply shook his head and knelt, his dextrous hands tracing over the body almost tenderly. Sherlock continued to run about the room, sniffing and grumbling to himself. “Anything else, gentlemen?” he asked quietly.

“The first shot was to the back,” John said. “Besides that, I can’t confirm anything until Molly autopsies the body.”

  
“He was human,” the consulting detective stated. “There is a second, fainter scent in this room. It’s mundane but is tinged with gunpowder. Gunpowder, cedar....wolfsbane.”

  
“What?” he chuckled, “Wolfsbane? _That exists?_ ”

  
“Yes,” the Wolf snarled. “It’s deadly and potent to the Wolf, but it’s a hinderance to the Change to the Human.”

  
“Are you saying that there is a type of Lupus sapiens that can transform on the New Moon?” His stomach was sinking rapidly.

  
“No,” Sherrinford said from the doorway, his face a composed mask as he looked at the corpse of the man that he had Turned nearly a decade ago. “Wolfsbane has a strong odor. It prevents our sensitive olfactory scent from picking up anything else. Probably out of self-preservation.”

  
“So you can trace it out of here?” he asked, gaining hope.

  
“No,” the natural born wolf murmured, stepping in and kneeling beside Stevenson’s body. “It is simply concentrated within this house, more specifically, this room. I’m guessing that the murderer had it concentrated in a bomb-like devise. It’s well-faded now, so the murder must have occurred hours ago. Maybe even yesterday.”

  
“Like this?” Sherlock practically gagged, the remnants of a torn and battered plastic bag dripping an odd, oily substance. “Slammed it between the sofa and the wall when he sat down. Simultaneously, our murderer pulls the gun and shoots our victim in the chest as he is turning to figure out where the repulsive stench is coming from. Killer then stands and executes our werewolf from above his hunched over form. This probably occurred early last evening, judging by the fading of the odors and the amount of fluid saturation in the carpet.”

  
“If the shots came from below and above, how can you guess this man’s height?” Lestrade asked, lost and not following.

  
“Simple arithmetic.” Sherlock emphasized the ‘kuh.’

  
_Still an insufferable bastard after all these years_ , he thought, almost chuckling. _Some thing’s never change_.

  
The Turned Wolf twirled out of the room with a spin of his coat. “Keep me posted!” he called over his shoulder. “John!”

  
The doctor stood with a sigh, his nose scrunched up slightly. “Thanks for letting us know about this, Greg,” the man said, looking a bit pale. “I hope this is an isolated incident.”

  
“Me too,” he murmured, turning his attention to the distraught natural born wolf kneeling on the floor.

  
Silence perforated the room. Sherrinford took a shuddering breath and held his head in his hands. “I remember him, Greg,” he breathed, barely louder than a whisper. “I remember how he ran. How I caught him in my jaws, latching onto his leg and tearing the flesh. Tasting his blood.” He shook his curled head. “ _I did this_ , Greg. I _killed_ him, ten years ago when I first bit him. I sealed his death warrant in my anger, my rage. My anguish. My _instincts_.”

  
“Don’t,” he whispered, placing a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “You’ve paid for that, over and over again, Sherrinford. This murder - it’s most certainly not your fault.”

  
The man continued to shake his head back and forth. “I mean it, Sherrinford. None of this is your fault.”

  
“Thank you,” the other man murmured, looking up at him with impossibly blue eyes. “But we both know that’s not true.”  
_______________________________

  
“Sir?”

  
He looked up from his paperwork littered desk. “Eddington,” he said surprised, “Come in.”

  
“Sir,” the man said, standing at attention, “I wanted to talk with you about today.”

  
He nodded, guessing the the man would want to talk. “Please,” he said kindly but authoritatively, “Have a seat.”

  
He watched the slender man slide into one of the seats across from him. He looked wary and nervous. “What can I help you with, Eddington?”

  
The other man bit his lower lip and shook his head slightly. “I’m not good enough to be working under you, Sir,” he replied. “I’m not trained to be a sniffer dog. I didn’t even identify the wolfsbane on the scene. Sherlock Holmes, who’s a bloody human, found it instead of me!”

  
“Are you suggesting that we train you and others like you - perfectly functioning _human beings_ \- with our dogs?” His brow furrowed, considering the implications.

  
“Sir,” Eddington said with a small, soft, smile on his face, “We both know that I am not human. I _could_ , according to Sherrinford Holmes, become a wolf right _now_ , if I so chose.”

  
“Eddington, calm down,” Lestrade said slowly, raising a hand. “I understand where you’re coming from. My one question to you is: Do you want to be humiliated or laughed at for training with the dogs?”

  
“Sir,” the young officer said evenly, “I am already viewed by many members of our team as less than human. You heard Morris today: I’m one of _them_. If I can make a difference at a crime scene - a _true_ difference, then, please, train me with the dogs. Or, better yet, get Holmes to do it. If he instituted a program on Moon nights, he’d get all the K13s to sign up. He’s respected in both communities and he knows what we’re capable of.”

  
“I don’t think it’s an issue of Moon nights, Eddington,” he sighed, leaning back in his chair. “It’s the days that seem to be the issue. I’ll see what I can do, both in and out of this department. I want you to feel like you’re making a difference. You are, Eddington, you really are, but if you don’t feel that way, I’m sure I can make something happen.”

  
The K13 stood. “Thank you, Sir.”

  
“You’re welcome.” Watching the broad back of the young man leave his office, he rang Sherrinford. The veterinarian picked up after the second ring and patiently listened to his thoughts.

  
“That’s doable, Greg,” the young Wolf said cheerfully. “But you were right: We can’t train them on Full Moons for a few obvious reasons. They work when they’re human, or as human as possible. _That_ is the form that needs to be trained. Trust me: The Wolf would know instinctively that wolfsbane was in that room. The human would not. It’s all about making the Wolf and the human one and the same. That is why Sherlock is so good. He’s at peace - he is one, as I am one.”

  
“Yeah, yeah,” he chuckled into the receiver. “I always knew you Holmes boys were special.”


	14. Chapter 13: The Consulting Detective

The wall, with it’s smattering of maps, scraps of paper, and various photographs, frustrated him. He pulled at his hair, his fingers tugging at the roots before he shook it out. He could hear Sherrinford above him, pacing as he chatted away with someone... _Lestrade, from the tone of voice, rate of the pacing, and the use of the name ‘Greg.’ Though I thought his name was Gavin…Isn’t it Gavin Lestrade?_ He let the thought pass, his mind flitting elsewhere. John and Evelyn had gone out for the evening - Father-Daughter Time, they’d called it. He knew it was because the other man, his Mate, knew that he needed the space to think.

  
He was grateful but he missed the distraction at times like this. Nothing was coming to him. Nothing was making sense. All the leads that he had chased all over London today had been dead ends. He had run through several firms and had eventually come across the firm that had hired Trevor Stevenson fresh out of Oxford. They claimed the boy had been a good worker, that he had done well. Then, suddenly, ten years ago, they needed to downsize. Trevor was the only one who had lost his job. _Nothing surprising there. Couldn’t keep a ‘liability’ running about_.

  
He then went to the man’s current job and found no one there that fit the stature of the killer. He also found that none of the coworkers found him to be hard to get along with but they generally avoided him. A lonely existence outside of Baskerville and the Full Moon, apparently. If it hadn’t been for the obvious, he would have ruled the murder a suicide.

  
“This is not making sense!” he growled, his instincts rising within him. _Who would go out of their way to kill this man?_

  
Knowing that he needed to stop thinking, he turned his back on the wall with a huff and pulled off his robe, tossing it onto the worn sofa in a heap. Striding purposefully towards his room, he quickly and efficiently stripped his rather fitted clothing off into a heap on the floor. Crouching down, he willed the shift, letting his instincts pull him from human to wolf.

  
It was a sweet release now, his bones breaking beginning with the left arm and traveling along his body. He could feel his neck and tail elongating, his ears migrating up his head and his strong jaws and sharp nose thrusting forward. He whined through his sharpening teeth as the feeling of millions of thick, coarse hairs sprouted from his pores, creating his fur pelt.

  
Shaking it out, he trotted out of his room and into the living room, barking his changed form to the man upstairs. He could hear Sherrinford stop his pacing above him and a drawer open and shut, followed by the sound of the man descending the steps.

  
A knock sounded on his door. “Sherlock?” Sherrinford’s baritone cut through the wood. “May I come in?”

  
He woofed quietly, dancing from paw to paw. He had forgotten his collar, so he ran to grab it from his dresser as his brother entered the flat. “What are you up to?” the younger man asked, bending to take the collar from his mouth. “You want this on, I assume.” His fingers scratched his ruff playfully as he closed the belt of leather around his neck and tucked the tags behind it. “Are we going out?”

  
He nodded, leaning back so his butt waggled back and forth in time with his tail. Sherrinford chuckled at his antics, scratching his ears. He nipped at the other man’s wrist playfully, nicking the skin. “I hope you were planning on company,” his younger sibling said, watching the silvery mucus ooze from the small puncture wound before pulling his shirt off. Reaching into his pocket, he placed his collar around his neck, and yanked his jeans off.

  
Watching his brother shift was fascinating. He had seen himself shift back from his four-legged form, as Mycroft had taped it during his first change. Natural born wolves apparently shifted very differently. It started at the extremities, his toes and fingers shrinking and becoming paws and claws, as the shift traveled up his arms and legs, popping joints, elongating and rotating. As the shift reached his shoulders and hips, his sibling shook, completing the shift in that motion with maw and tail sprouting, ears pulling upward, and fur erupting all at once. It took no longer than thirty seconds, which shocked him, seeing as his own was only that rapid the night of the Full Moon.

  
Once his brother was done with his transformation, he snaked in, latching onto the other wolf’s muzzle with a low growl. Sherrinford batted him away with a massive paw before he began to lick and lap at him, soothing his inner Alpha. He was in charge, or at least Sherrinford was allowing him to be, as the other man whined tenderly. With one last nuzzle, his brother headed for the stairs and bounded down. He followed, his tail waggling and waving like a helicopter blade.

  
“Oh boys!” Mrs. Hudson said cheerfully from her doorway, “Shall I let you out?” He nodded vigorously, as did Sherrinford, the younger man even barking enthusiastically. The antics of his younger sibling made him roll his eyes but did not diminish their shared enthusiasm. “Okay, okay,” the landlady chuckled, pushing through their wriggling mass of fur and energy, “The back door will be open for when you get back. Don’t stay out too late!”

  
Sherlock nodded, his younger sibling already out the door and halfway down the sidewalk of Baker Street. The detective gave his beloved landlady a small lick on the inside of her wrist, tasting her scent of peonies and cookies, and chased his younger brother out to the sidewalk.

  
He’d missed this - the feeling of the wind playing through his thick fur, the crunch of the gravel and pavement beneath his tough paw pads, and the companionship that he could only find with another Wolf. Sherrinford raced back to him, looping around him before growling and nipping at his ears affectionately. He gave the larger Wolf a playful shove before taking off at a brisk clip towards the nearby park. He could sense his brother following him, obediently sticking behind his right shoulder, tags jangling.

  
The streets were bare, which was probably a good thing. After all, they didn’t want the general public sweeping the pair of them off the streets and into a pound or shelter. They wore tags: both on the collar and on their hidden chain. Normal humans, however, were rather dull in his expert opinion, and they would probably not check the tags. Or, worse, if they did, they could discover the Holmes family secret, which he did not want out in the open.

  
The park was a pleasant retreat, allowing him to think and to simply expend energy. Setting his body on autopilot, he and Sherrinford traversed the small patch of grass and trees enthusiastically while he continued to mull over his conundrum. _Was Stevenson murdered for murder’s sake or was he a target because of his condition? The man’s coworkers at both occupations were aware of his status. After all, who takes a trip to the country once a month? No one would believe the ill relative story for years at a time. A few months, sure. Ten years, definitely not. None of the colleagues appeared to want to murder the man, much less have the motive to do it. He was generally well-liked and left alone. So...the murderer had to know the Lupus sapiens from somewhere else. But where was the question. He kept to himself_ (Most of them do) _, his interactions with humans minimal and controlled. There must have been a bar or pub he frequented, maybe a gym or a support group. Something where his identity as a werewolf would have been discovered and looked upon by another patron with distaste. Or...could his family really turn on him? There were certainly families_ (My own included) _, who viewed the Lupus sapiens as vermin. Subhuman. Was he killed by a relative?_

  
Sherrinford woofed and stopped suddenly, causing him to run into his larger body with an undignified yip. Shaking himself to rights, he growled in complaint. Then he noticed his younger sibling’s rigid stance, low head but pricked head with a still tail, and stopped. _He’s wary of something_. Following the other man’s gaze, he found himself looking at a rather small, unassuming woman.  _Hmmm...interesting._

  
She must have been just barely above five feet tall. She was slim but not sickly, her bare arms, which were holding a copy of Shakespeare’s Sonnets, flexing with thin muscle. Her black hair was pulled away from her face in a sloppy bun, loose wispy waves framing her face in idle ringlets, while her green eyes were staring at Sherrinford in shock.

  
He nudged the other Wolf, worried about the attention they were receiving, causing the younger man to stumble a bit to his right, not breaking eye contact with the woman even as one of his ears swiveled to face him. Sherlock growled and nipped at Sherrinford’s ear, shaking the other man from his revery, nipping back at his snout with a huff. With a desperate nudge, he turned his brother away from the mysterious woman and turned for Baker Street. He could feel her eyes on them as they retreated, making him antsy and jumpy. He did not like the way she was staring at them. It was as if she knew what they were.  
_____________________________________

  
When they were finally back in their shared flat, Sherlock retreated to his room to allow his bones to rearrange themselves. He could hear Sherrinford finish well ahead of him, the other man simply releasing a soft sigh through the process. The detective gritted his shifting teeth and, once everything was back in it’s proper place, he threw a robe about his body, not wanting to redress.

  
Pursing his lips and striding into the living room, he cocked an eyebrow at his younger sibling’s broad back. Sherrinford was looking out the window, his head cocked slightly to the side.

  
“Did she follow us?” he asked the back before him.

  
The other werewolf shook his head almost sadly. “She did not.” He sighed, turning away from the window and letting the curtain drop. “I don’t know what I would have done if she had.”

  
“You know her,” Sherlock stated, moving to pick up his violin, keeping an eye on the other man. Sherrinford was still moving as if in a daze, stumbling a bit as he sat down on the sofa. The detective resisted the urge to growl at the action. His sibling was Pack and thus his scent should be allowed in his territory.

  
“That, Sherlock, was Imogen,” the younger man murmured, eyes twinkling while simultaneously glazed.

  
“She doesn’t know about us,” he stated, knowing it to be fact even as a thrill of fear raced through him.

  
“Right,” Sherrinford replied, still staring at nothing.

  
“And yet, she seemed to know that we were not ‘normal’ dogs.” He plucked at the strings of his Stradivarius, tuning them nimbly.

  
“I didn’t tell her.” The other man’s blue eyes met his own. “She might have just been surprised. We are quite large…”

  
Raising the instrument to his chin, he turned away from the younger man, doubting his weak defense. “I suggest you get another date with her. I can’t have our Pack compromised.”

  
His fingers set to work, pulling the bow across the strings while others danced the tune out. He knew that Sherrinford had left, his perfume lingering a bit before fading. _How much did this woman know? Is it connected to Stevenson? Could she have known him? Helped him? Killed him?_ He brushed the thought away, knowing that she was too short to be the killer. _But maybe she knows the killer… Am I jumping to conclusions?_ Trying to calm and focus his mind, he let the music take him.


	15. Chapter 14: The Government and the Agent(s)

It was days like today that he was glad that he had a home office. It was the perfect new addition to his Downing Street abode (Not that anyone knew that he lived at 15 Downing Street - within shouting distance of the Prime Minister, except, of course, the Prime Minister). Sherlock had suggested the soundproofing, which was certainly an ear-saver, but the door was created to appear like a part of the wall even though he could see straight through it That way, if Molly needed him, she only needed to stand outside the door. The twins did not know about the office and he planned to keep it that way.

  
He was at home today because, whether Molly believed it or not, the new twins were coming and they were coming soon. He wouldn’t escape to one of his other offices until those precious babies were in the nursery and Molly was sleeping for more than five hours at a time.

  
He refocused on his computer screen, exhaling loudly through the Mozart symphony that was issuing from the sound system. Sherlock (And Lestrade) had told him about their latest murder and the implications behind it. A dead Lupus sapiens after the night of the New Moon: it was not a good thing.

  
He had been scanning CCTV cameras around the dilapidated building for what seemed like hours. Normally, he’d relegate this task to someone lower on the totem pole, below himself and even his assistant, Anthea, but he did not want word of the deceased werewolf getting out. He was also searching feverishly for any history of this man on the internet. What was he involved in? Where did he go when he wasn’t working or shifting? _Who was Trevor Stevenson?_

  
He inhaled, stiffening and straightening in his chair. With a click of his mouse, he stopped the feed and attempted to zoom in on the image there. The figure, entering the house through the front door (which Stevenson hadn’t locked, the idiot), was wearing a dark leather jacket with a black hoodie underneath. The hood was up, shading any trace of a face, but two things were certain: the killer was certainly male and the murder was certainly predetermined and planned.   
______________________________

  
Sherlock released a growl but resisted the urge to hurl John’s laptop from his lap. The detective’s Google search was revealing very little, which was disheartening. Trevor Stevenson had very little internet history, or at least traceable history, besides the usual. His Facebook page had very few hits and the man’s last post had been a post that he didn’t deem completely unusual or odd, given what he could gather about his circumstances. It was regarding the regulations of the Lupus sapiens and how some degraded them to less than human. He chewed on his lower lip absent-mindedly, reading the man’s statements from over three months ago, when the legislation was reviewed. Mycroft had really messed somethings up in regards to the Wolves, but he really had tried his hardest to protect them and others like them despite his lack of true knowledge that could only come from experience.

  
Sherlock sighed, ruffling his hair thoughtfully. He didn’t mind the laws. He knew that they irked Sherrinford, who didn’t understand the need for laws governing wolves. He just viewed his natural inclinations as what should be ( _It’s a miracle that he doesn’t scent people on the street, really_ ). Living without those rules for over thirty years of his life, his younger brother could understand why the notion of safe-change zones and registration with identification tags made the general populace feel secure but did not understand other regulations. Trevor seemed to be of the same mind as his younger sibling, which is interesting, considering that the younger man had Turned him.

  
His thoughts were interrupted by a ding from his phone, signaling his reception of a text message. Unsure of where his mobile actually was, he yelled, “John!” over his shoulder, knowing that the other man was upstairs cooking bangers and mash for dinner.

  
He could hear the sigh from his perch in his chair. The other man abandoned his stirring, clinking the wooden spoon against the skillet were he was frying - potatoes, his nose told him - and stalked over to the doorway. “What?” the doctor yelled back down the stairs.

  
“Phone!” he shouted back.

  
“It’s _your_ bloody mobile! Get it yourself!” John sounded flustered, though the detective had no idea why.

  
“BOYS!” Mrs. Hudson shrieked up the stairs, “Stop your racket at once! Connie Prince is on the Telly!”

  
He did growl now. “It’s a rerun, Mrs. Hudson, and you know it! The woman’s been dead for years!”

  
“Shut up, Sherlock!” his mate yelled again, his wooden spoon banging into the metal sink on the third floor.

  
The sound roused someone, however, and the detective smirked, listening to the thud of frustrated footsteps on the stairs. The door to 221B swung open. Not looking, his nose was surprised to scent his brother instead of his mate. “Sherrinford,” he intoned, not missing a beat, “Phone.”

  
Knowing that the wolf was probably rolling his eyes at the request, he gave a small tilt to his head as the device was place in his outstretched hand. His fingers closed over it and gave it a tug, meeting resistance from the other man’s grip. He growled, glaring up at Sherrinford who was glaring back at him. “Seriously, Sherlock?” his younger sibling muttered, teeth briefly flashing, “All that yelling for something that was on the coffee table. Acting like a child is not going to fix our problem.”

  
With a sharp exhale followed by a violent tug that secured his mobile, he grated out a thank you. Sherrinford didn’t move, reading the text from their elder brother over his shoulder, making him hunch uncomfortably. Gritting his teeth, he turned his focus to the screen before him.

  
IMAGE ON CCTV - FACE COVERED BY HOODIE BUT DEFINITELY MALE. STEVENSON FREQUENTED A PUB, THE RED LION, ON TUESDAYS. ALWAYS FROM 9-11. CAME AND LEFT ALONE. NOTHING ELSE OUT OF THE ORDINARY. - MH

  
“Well,” he sighed, tossing the mobile away in frustration, “That’s useless. Tuesdays from 9 to 11. Pffft.”

  
“The Red Lion has trivia on Tuesdays starting at 9.” His younger sibling’s voice murmured over his left shoulder.

  
His brow crinkling, he rolled over to look the natural born wolf in his deep blue eyes. The other man was looking at the floor, his eyes, usually piercing, were glazed. “How do you know that?” he queried.

  
“Imogen and I are going there Tuesday for our second date,” the other man murmured, still looking at the floor. “Do you think that I should cancel?”

  
“No!” he barked back, sitting up and looking directly into his younger sibling’s face. “You need to go. Learn as much as you can. You’re going to catch a killer.”   
______________________________

  
He knew that Sherlock was tailing them and it irked him a bit (Fine. It irked him to no end). It was difficult to concentrate on Imogen when his Alpha was wandering, not so inconspicuously, behind him. The detective had been trailing him all evening, ‘eating’ at the back of their Indian restaurant, and was now he was traipsing about with his popped collar and blue scarf about a block behind them.

  
He bit back the urge to growl, knowing that, if he did, he couldn’t pass it off as behavior towards his patients. Growling was a warning, yes, but it was also a threat. Doctors did not threaten their patients - unless, of course, they were an arrogant sod of an older brother, then all bets were off.

  
Gesturing Imogen into the Red Lion with a bit of a bow, he turned to face the Turned wolf. “Sherlock,” he grumbled, peeling his upper lips back a bit to reveal his teeth, “Back. Off. I do not need a _handler_.”

  
Knowing that the other man would have heard him, he spun into the pub behind his date. Imogen beamed at him, her teeth fully out, making him flinch internally while he inhaled her intoxicating scent. Along with the reticence of at least seven Lupus sapiens.

  
Sherlock swung into the door behind him, making him grateful, for once, that his older brother was slightly anal. _Nine Lupus sapiens walk into a pub..._ he thought to himself, noting the oddness of it. _What kind of trivia is this? And how in the bloody hell does Imogen know about it?_ Not voicing any of his insecurities as the hair on the back of his neck rose uncomfortably, he gave Imogen a smile and gestured her towards a free table next to the wall. Sherlock, being ridiculous as usual, followed and plopped himself down in the seat beside Imogen, a kind smile on his face. “Well, hello Brother dear,” the older man intoned.

  
Biting his lower lip to stop the possessive growl that was threatening to tear its way out of his chest, he responded, “Sherlock.” Offering a hand to the teacher across the table from him, who looked rather shocked at the sudden arrival of the other man, he continued, “Imogen, I’d like you to meet my elder brother, Sherlock. He was just leaving.” He gave the dark haired man a pointed glare.

  
“The consulting detective!” the teacher beamed, offering a hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  
Ignoring any type of social convention, the Alpha shifted to look at the woman he was currently crowding and allowed his eyes to rove up and down her slender, petite frame, ignoring the hand. A growl did rumble about is his throat then, but it was thankfully covered by the noise of the Red Lion patrons. “Do you know the type of people who frequent this pub, Ms. Crowley?” the detective asked, leaning in a bit to scent the woman discreetly, nostrils flaring.

  
“Um...” Imogen flushed, caught in the odd heterochromia of the older man, “People who like trivia?” He could see her flush under the other man’s scrutiny, diverting her gaze submissively. God, he thought, brow furrowing, _Lay off, Sherlock. My poor Imogen..._ He paused, smiling a bit. _My Imogen._

  
Sherlock blinked at her rapidly before giving him the same treatment. Abruptly, the detective left his seat and vanished into the rest of the pub. The small woman guffawed at the abrupt departure of his older sibling, making him chuckle. “He’s a bit of an odd duck,” he admitted with a shrug, realizing that he was even more of one. After all, their parents had given him up for being too different but had kept their two boy geniuses.

  
Imogen laughed, a truly beautiful sound, as she agreed, “He’s certainly different, but I kind of like him.”

  
“Truly?” he replied, still chuckling a bit under his breath. “Most people want to punch him in the face after a few seconds.”

  
“Truly!” she laughed back. “Besides, would he be a great detective if he were normal?”

  
“No, he certainly would not.” He flagged down a pub worker and ordered their drinks, picking up the trivia card. “Are you ready?” he asked, shifting their conversation away from his sibling, as his eyes followed the other man as he darted from table to table like a giant bat before finding the green eyes of the teacher again.  
_ _ _ _ _

  
His nose led him to a set of three tables at the back of the pub. The wolves lurked in the rear shadows, pints of half consumed Guinness placed in front of them. They were all somber, eyes down at the water rings on the tables. They were all wearing black. Tilting his head slightly while standing ramrod straight, he approached the nearest group who eyed him warily.

  
Cutting to the chase and asserting his inner Alpha, he stated, “You’re mourning your packmate.”

  
“What?!” a rather bulky, balding man said, glaring at him, his teeth flashing a warning. _Obviously not pleased to be outed in public. Noted_.

  
He inhaled sharply, reasserting his dominance with a growl. “Trevor Stevenson. You met and played trivia with him every Tuesday.”

  
A smaller, rather unimposing man, laid a hand on the arm of the bald bruiser, calming the other man who was growling deep in his chest. “How do you know that?”

  
“I’m a detective,” he replied, hiding his identity as one of them by revealing his profession. “I was put on the Stevenson case.” He flipped one of Lestrade’s ID’s out and flashed it before stuffing it back into his Belstaff. “We know that he frequented these trivia games. The barkeep says that he played with you.”

  
The wolves had all turned their attentions to him at this point, nostrils flared but unable to pick up his unique musk through the smoky mixture of the pub ( _Thankfully_ ). With (What he deemed) a sympathetic frown, he continued, “I’m sorry for your loss, which is why I want to help you and catch his murderer.”

  
“Why would one of you want to help one of us?” the bald man, obviously the Alpha within their little gathering. _Hiding insecurities with posturing. Noted._

  
He sighed, rather annoyed at the man’s inability to cooperate. “I believe that people are people, regardless. Besides, I have a family member who’s just like you. I don’t want a serial killer on our hands.” _Oooh. Serial killer. That would be lovely..._ He tried not to smirk at the thought, schooling his face to remain slightly concerned. He added a bit of Alpha to his gaze, making it steely.

  
One by one, the wolves tilted their heads to the left, consenting to his input, though the bald man ( _Displeased at losing what little control he has and wary of ‘normal’ human involvement_ ) growled softly. “Thank you,” he murmured before continuing. “Was there anyone that was bothering Stevenson? A confrontation here or at work, perhaps?”

  
“Nah,” the short man responded as other shook their heads. “Stevenson was our Omega - he got along well with everyone.”

  
“Omega?” he asked, unfamiliar with the term. He was certain that one did not exist within his Pack.

  
“It’s a Wolf term,” the bald man explained, rolling his eyes at his supposed idiocy. “It goes to the joker of the group. He wouldn’t hurt a fly, Trev...It’s pretty unreal.”

  
“Yeah,” another man with a rather obnoxious mustache chimed in. “He was a fun bloke. Everyone liked him.”

  
“Everyone,” a ginger with a beer gut stated. “Even his bosses at the firm felt awful letting him go. But...well...it’s difficult to get good steady work now that we’re not...human.”

  
“I mean,” the original short man cut in, “We’re mostly janitorial staff. I was a teacher. Loved my job, the kids loved me. Now I’m cleaning the toilets in the evenings. Heaven forbid that I have any interaction with the students.”

  
“Can’t have ‘em catching the Wolf,” the bald man practically snarled. “Surprised that Scotland Yard’s even caring about Stevenson and send a detective out here to talk to the likes of us. I’m surprised that they haven’t just passed it off as good riddance. A dead dog is better than a living problem.”

  
Titling his head, in an attempt to look cowed, he muttered, “We have several members in our K13 units whom are Lupus sapiens. The Yard takes care of their own, so why not others?”

  
The bald man laughed humorlessly. “Nice try, Bud. But the sentiment is nice.”


	16. Chapter 15: The Soldier

He would be lying if he claimed that he was feeling the same as he had a month ago. That tended to happen when a maniac took a chunk out of your shoulder. While the wound was healing nicely, though he could do without the near constant throb of pain that accompanied it, he had noticed something else. Sherlock, in all his insufferable flaws, was suddenly becoming something more to him than he had ever imagined. The thought of sexual and romantic attraction to the consulting detective was really new and a bit terrifying. After all, Three Continents Watson was entirely straight, thank you very much. He had never found a man that made him more than jealous (And that was usually because the bloke had landed a woman that he had been attracted to).

  
He sighed, stomping his tired feet up to his flat cursing the third floor location in harsh, muted tones while simultaneously glad of the exercise. _Sherlock, the blighter, won’t say anything about the Mate bond, but it seems to be a bit more involved than he’s telling me. It’s overwhelming, especially in his presence. On the one hand, it’s comforting - and Evy would definitely approve. On the other, I’m not bloody gay! Right?_

  
He knew that Sherlock was worried by his odd behavior over the past few weeks. He’d be lying if he said that he, himself, wasn’t terrified. He most certainly was. He had never felt this way before and his mind and heart continued to chase circles around each other, each one lacking the courage to finally put an end to this Purgatory.

  
He shook his head and opened the door to 221C to find his daughter beaming up at him from a full table. “Hello my Angel,” he said cheerfully, laying his briefcase down by the door and kicking his shoes off onto the mat. “What’s the occasion?”

  
“Daddy!” Evelyn projected rather shrilly in his taxed hearing (It had been vaccine day at the clinic), “I just love you! Isn’t that enough?”

  
He chuckled, taking the thirteen year old in his arms and gave her a tight squeeze. “I’ll take it, Darling,” he chortled, ruffling her hair. “So what do we have here?”

  
“I made meatball soup and garlic bread and a salad.” She rested her chin on his sternum and looked up at him with his wife’s blue eyes. “I thought we could have family dinner! You, me, Nana, Sherlock, and Uncle Ford.”

  
“That sounds wonderful!” he replied. “Are your uncles home?” He could almost feel his ears straining for other sounds with no success. He bit back a disappointed sigh at the thought that Sherlock wasn’t home. _I’m turning into some lovesick teenager_ , he reflected with a shake of his head. He needed to pull himself together. _Maybe I’m imagining things..._ The thought comforted him for a moment because he knew that it was false hope. _I feel different_ , he reasoned, _**I am** different_.

  
“Not yet,” Evelyn replied, turning away to grab her mobile to check for any texts. “Uncle Ford says that they’re leaving the Yard now.”

  
“Alright,” he smiled, “I’m glad that we can have family dinner together!”

  
“Me too!” his child exclaimed before moving into the kitchen and double checking everything.

  
The sight made him smile as he moved into the flat and into his room. Pulling a fresh jumper and a pair of well-worn jeans on, he thought about what the Holmes’ were doing today. Sherlock had apparently made his way into a Pack at the pub where the victim had frequented. Whether the Wolves knew that his Mate was an Alpha or even a Lupus sapiens, he had no idea. He did know that the men had been willing to talk with him a couple of times since they had met in the Red Lion, which, he hoped, would help them catch the killer soon. Sherlock, of course, was unworried for his own safety. That left him, the old, worn, Army doctor, to watch his back.

  
He did enjoy the thrill of the chase but neither of them were young anymore. His shoulder throbbed when the temperature dropped below sixty degrees. His newest scar, courtesy of St. Pierre, was still pink and puckered like it was just healed - which it had - and pained him on a regular basis when he tried to reach over his head. If he had any trace of Wolf within him, he figured that he wouldn’t have a trace of the Bite on his shoulder. _Right? Does Sherlock still have his scar?_ He had been too concerned with the vestigial tail than scars when he’d seen the man naked all that time ago. _God, am I going to grow a tail?!_ He shook the ridiculous idea away, Sherrinford, in all his wolf wisdom, had told him that he would suffer no ill-effects except potential limited mobility and some residual pain. He would not become a Wolf from St. Pierre’s Bite. _Stop overreacting, John!_ he chided, trying to push his sliver of uncertainty away.

  
Trying not to favor the ‘bumleg’ from Afghanistan as he thought about the Bite, he limped slightly into the sitting room and sunk onto the well-worn sofa with an elongated sigh. Life was speeding on, he realized. Not only his own life, but he had a daughter who was currently pulling delicious smelling garlic bread from the oven. _She’s growing up so fast_ , he mused. Looking at the woman that his little girl was becoming, he realized that she needed to spend some time with Molly. While his body was changing, her’s was too (Though it was certainly in a more natural way). He had attempted to give her the ‘birds and the bees’ talk when she had turned ten, but it did not go well.

  
Grabbing his mobile off the coffee table, he sent a quick text to his ‘sister-in-law.’ Technically, he was not married to Sherlock and thus Molly was not his ‘sister-in-law,’ but he was the man’s Mate (He flushed at the thought, feeling incredibly pleased about it). It was difficult to determine how to define his relationship with Sherlock Holmes and, through his relationship with that man, his relationship with the rest of the detective’s Pack.

  
The sound of a door slamming below told him that at least one of the Holmes brothers was home. “Mrs. Hudson!” the deep voice of the detective called from the foyer. “Dinner is nearly ready.”

  
The older woman must have answered because he heard two very distinct sets of footsteps ascending the stairs to 221C: one determined and driving, relentless and obviously belonging to his mate; the other steady and slow, accompanied by the creak of the railing, belonging to his daughter’s honorary grandmother. _Two down, one to go_ , he thought. “Sherlock and Nana are on their way, Angel,” he stated, pushing himself up from the couch with a small groan, his leg aching. “Are we almost ready? Do you need anything from me? Can I help?”

  
Evelyn laughed, a beautiful sound in his mind, and shook her head. She was scraping the garlic bread, crispy and cheesy, from the pan and into a basket. With a small smile, she placed the basket onto the table and called, “Dinner’s ready!”

  
Sherlock’s steady footsteps sped up a bit, the younger man probably jumping stairs in his rush to the table. The Full Moon was just days away and the other man’s dietary needs would be in overdrive. “The food will wait, Dear,” Mrs. Hudson chided from the floor below as Sherlock threw open the door to his flat.

  
“Dinner’s ready,” the younger man said, unapologetic in his entrance.

  
“Hello Sherlock!” Evy shouted shrilly, running to the dark haired Wolf and leaping into his arms.

  
Sherlock looked a bit taken aback, his eyes and nostrils widening before he allowed himself to wrap his arms around the slim girls body with a small smile. “Hello Evelyn,” he murmured, pressing his nose into the girls wavy hair and inhaling. “Thank you for cooking dinner. It is much appreciated.”

  
“I learned from the best,” his daughter replied, beaming up at the taller man.

  
“Of course you did,” Sherlock replied, not a shred of modesty in place as Mrs. Hudson entered the open door, shaking her head, having heard the entire exchange from the stairwell.

  
“Nana!” Evelyn said, wriggling from Sherlock’s grip and hugging her fiercely around her waist. “I’m glad you can come to dinner.”

  
“Always a pleasure, Darling,” the landlady replied. “Shall we eat?”

  
The teen relinquished her grip on the older woman and gestured them towards the table with a worried look on her face. “What about Uncle Ford?” she asked, her voice quiet.

  
Sherlock had already taken his seat and was unceremoniously shoveling a rather large portion onto his plate. Placing his hand on his child’s shoulder, he gestured her to her seat. “We can make him a plate for later. I’m sure he has a valid excuse for missing dinner. Something must have come up.” _I hope_ , he gulped, thinking about the Lupus sapiens murders. _Sherrinford can more than take care of himself_. He inhaled and refocused on the family that was gathered around him with a smile. “How was everyone’s day?”

  
Rolling his eyes at the attempt at small talk, Sherlock guffawed. “Small talk, John? At a time like this? And asking someone ‘how’ their day was is a rather preposterous question. Instead, one should ask what they did and their feelings on the results of their activities.”

  
Setting in for another lecture from his mate about what he deemed to be proper table talk, the doctor grinned at his daughter and took her hand. “Everything is lovely, my Angel,” he whispered, not interrupting the detective’s rant.


	17. Chapter 16: The Last Wolf

His latest date with Imogen had gone splendidly. He realized shortly into the second date that, even after a night of making a complete *ss of himself at trivia (He knew _very_ little about modern pop culture), she most certainly was his Mate. The feelings only intensified through their three subsequent dinners and a trip to the theatre.

  
That being acknowledged, he also realized that she was not telling him everything. She knew something about the Lupus sapiens, more than what a typical person immersed in modern politics and history would know. She didn’t reveal anything, of course, and she didn’t seem to think that he was a Lupus sapiens ( _Or she’s very good at hiding it_ ), but he couldn’t shake the feeling. Either way, he could not make any connections between her and the deceased Trevor Stevenson, much to his elder brothers’ shared disappointments. He’d keep on it, of course, but he doubted that she knew anything about the murder. Which he was glad about because the last thing he wanted was to have a Hunter in his life, knowing his secret and toying with him mercilessly before dispatching him.

  
While his instincts demanded that he court the teacher constantly (Making his trousers uncomfortably tight), his logic was telling him that that would be a rather poor idea. Instead, with the Full Moon three nights away, he had decided to speak with his eldest brother and his wife about their potential Pup problem. It had not been difficult to find his brother’s residence on Downing Street, and, by assuming his four-legged form, it was easy to sneak past the Prime Minister’s abode, with it’s vigilant security, to find Mycroft’s swanky city home.

  
Of course, the move had left him without clothing in the middle of London on his oldest sibling’s doorstep. Barking and scratching lightly at the back door (Where he would attract less attention from the passersbys), he prayed that Mycroft and/or Molly was at home.

  
“Mummy!” one of the twins ( _Nathaniel from the vocal timbre and slight scent of denim that cutting though the crack at the bottom of the door_ ) called from the other side of the blue painted door. “There’s a doggie at the door!”

  
“She’s really pretty, Mummy!” Lucy ( _cotton_ ) chimed in, her small, shining face appearing in the window pane above his head. “Can we keep her?”

  
He bit back a growl, resenting being called a ‘her.’ But then again, his youngest niece and nephew did not know about the Wolves, much less that two ( _Soon to be three_ ) lived among them. The sound of heavy ( _So, incredibly heavy_ ) footsteps reached his ears along with slightly labored breathing. _Poor Molly_ , he thought with a soft whine, _Carrying such a heavy burden…about to get heavier_.

  
Molly’s slightly pink face appeared above him “Oh!” she breathed as her visage disappeared from the glass. “Kids,” he heard her slightly muffled voice through the door, “Run along and play. I’ll take care of our visitor.”

  
With a few grumblings, he heard the obedient patter of little feet retreating and the bolt sliding back. Molly’s flushed face beamed down at him. “To what do we owe the pleasure, Sherrinford?” she asked almost conspiratorially. “Shall I get Myc?”

  
He nodded, panting slightly and tilting his head. “Please come in,” the woman smiled, gesturing him in and closing the door behind him. “I’ll grab you a dressing gown or something as well, shall I?” He nodded, grateful to his sister-in-law and Packmate. She gave him a smile and waddled her way out of the kitchen into the recesses of the house. He waited patiently, tail wagging slightly of it’s own accord, relaying his inner happiness at being close to his family. _Pack._

  
The sound of two pairs of footsteps echoed from somewhere deep in the house, growing louder and closer. He stood, head cocked and waiting patiently, nostrils flared. _Mycroft and Molly, indiscriminate baby smells. Wolf_. He whined, his stomach dropping out as nerves settled there.

  
“To what do I owe the pleasure, Brother Dear?” Mycroft asked, turning the corner into the kitchen. He whined again, tail wagging slightly. “Molly,” his brother turned to his wife with a soft, tender smile. “Let’s get him in a more verbal state, shall we?”

  
The pregnant woman tossed a dressing robe over him, smelling strongly of Mycroft, making him growl even as he began to shift back. Inhaling, he willed the shift and sighed through the brief release as his paws gave way to hands and feet and his muzzle retreated into his straight nose and thin lips. Gathering the robe, he slid his arms through the sleeves and pulled the front together to protect his feeble modesty. “Thank you,” he panted slightly as he rose. “Is there somewhere more comfortable we could talk? It’s rather important.”

  
“Sure,” Molly replied, leaning a bit against her husband. Mycroft’s hand settled into the small of her back, his thumb rubbing small circles there. “The sitting room’s this way.”

  
Smiling at the backs of his hosts and admiring their obvious love for each other, he followed, tying the borrowed dressing gown shut. He was glad to see that the sitting room that the couple had chosen was close by, poor Molly was moving less agilely these days and his heart went out to her. In all honesty, he knew that she could go into labor at any second, which was part of the reason behind his urgent visit to the very private residence. Something that Mycroft brought up with a bit of annoyance as he sat down in an armchair opposite the couple.

  
“How did you find us?” the statesman asked before he corrected himself, tapping his temple. “Never mind that.” His elegant hand waved the first question away. “‘Why are you here?’ is a much more apt question.”

  
He swallowed, shifting his gaze to the fine French carpeting at his feet and tipping his head to the left. “There is something that I think you will want to know,” he murmured, biting his lips anxiously.

  
“And it couldn’t come over the phone?” his elder brother asked, his frustration seeping into his voice.

  
“No,” he replied, meeting the other man’s gaze. “It’s a very sensitive subject.”

  
“If it has to do with Stevenson, we’re all terribly sorry about it Sherrinford but a phone call would have sufficed. A text even, as is Sherlock’s wont.” The statesman’s annoyance at being disturbed was quite evident and it irked him, the hair on the back of his neck rising.

  
The woman beside him rubbed her stomach gingerly, a slight pain flickering across her features, drawing his attention as well as Mycroft’s. “Are you alright, Darling?”

  
She smiled tightly. “Fine. The left one is going at it again. He only does this when he’s near family for some reason. Or at night. I don’t know why.”

  
“I do,” the Wolf muttered, meeting Molly’s surprised expression. “And that’s why I’m here.” He bit his lower lip again before continuing. “I believe, Molly, that the reason it acts out at certain times is because it’s Shifting.”

  
The red head laughed lightly, her hand still rubbing at the protrusion. “Of course it’s shifting, Sherrinford!” she chortled, “It’s trying to find room in a small, uncomfortable space.”

  
“Not that kind of shifting,” he said, wringing his hands nervously. “The other kind. Sherlock’s kind - My kind.” He looked down at the ground as he watched the mortician’s face fall and her brow furrow. “I think that you’re having a-a… _Pup_.”

  
The word hurt for him to say, summoning memories from his isolated childhood as his ears picked up the shocked gasp from Molly and the sharp ‘ _No_ ’ from Mycroft. He felt run-through, his heart seizing in the rejection that he still experienced with those that knew about him. Rising and moving to rush from the room as his world seemed to crash down about him, he apologized to the fine, Persian carpeting. “I’m terribly sorry.”

  
“Wait!” He paused in his retreat, the hair on the back of his neck rising as he felt two pair of eyes focus on him. “How can you tell?”

  
Not turning around and not raising his head, he pulled the robe about him tighter as if holding back the emotions that were racing through him. “The symptoms: Obvious baby movement from one child at night - every night, as well as when around others of it’s kind; the scent is undeniable, unless you keep another Wolf around the house; the unmistakeable bat of a paw against my nose at the last Moon. You could use an ultrasound machine to confirm it, but I know already and I thought that you should too. To make the proper…accommodations.”

  
He took a few more steps towards the door before Molly’s voice stopped him again, her words stopping him in his tracks like a bullet to the chest. “We’re not your parents, Sherrinford.”

  
His eyes widened and he turned around slowly. His arms flexed, holding himself together. He bit his lips, flaring his nostrils to keep the unbidden tears from falling, his head bowed. The woman looked at him tenderly but sadly, her smile not meeting her eyes. “We’re not your parents,” she reiterated, raising a hand to him. “We love you. And Sherlock. And this baby - no matter what.” She shook her head. “I don’t know what to do with a Pup but I do know about children. And I do know that I love both of these little guys and they’re not even outside of me yet!” She rubbed her stomach, smiling at it. “I couldn’t give him up. I’d never want to.”

  
“Neither would I, for the record,” Mycroft chimed in, placing a hand on his wife’s rotund abdomen with a rare smile. “He is, after all, a Holmes.”

  
The tears came, cutting rivulets down his cheeks. He wiped them away quickly with the silk sleeve of the dressing gown. Molly smiled at him and offered him her free hand, which he took with a tight smile. “We’re going to need some help,” she said kindly. “I couldn’t think of a better teacher than you! You can help all of us.” She laughed, moving his hand to the side of her bump where the Pup was thrashing back into it’s human shape. “We’re going to need it.”

  
Speechless, he choked out, “I-Are you? Yuh-yes. I c-can do that.”

  
“Thank you, Sherrinford,” Mycroft said, his face composed into a genial mask, “Now, seeing as it could be anytime, what do we need to know about the birth?”

  
He shook his head, rubbing the protruding foot beneath his hand tenderly. “He should be born human,” he mused, smiling softly. “After that, he will be safe to handle for the first few months of his life. Once his milk teeth fall out, the toxin will begin to be produced.”

  
“How old?” Molly asked, sounding scared for the first time during their conversation. Mycroft wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders.

  
“Six months approximately,” he said, “I can care for him after that - until he’s plenty old enough to understand how to behave, no matter the form. I can care for him on Full Moon nights, keep him from trouble. He probably won’t be able to control his Shift until he’s about three or four. Plenty of time for him to learn how to behave properly.”

  
The couple visibly relaxed, smiles becoming less terrified and more genuine. “Thank you,” Molly murmured, covering his hand with hers and squeezing it tenderly. “I don’t know how to thank you enough.”

  
He smiled up at her and his elder brother. “You don’t have to,” he grinned, “It’s enough to know that this little one will have a better childhood than I did.”


	18. Chapter 17: The Detective

Sherrinford eventually made his way home, well-past dinner, in his four-legged form. Mycroft had accompanied him, much to his chagrin and disappointment at the unexpected visitor. It wasn’t that he disliked his elder brother - they had reached an understanding years ago when he had first Turned. No, it was because the older man’s scent was becoming stronger as his twins’ due date was nearing and it was clinging to what seemed to be every inch of the sitting room and kitchen of 221B. He suppressed a growl, as the two men entered, noting that his younger sibling was trotting along happily, tail raised like a banner as it wagged jovially. The overgrown dog continued through the flat and into his bathroom, nudging the door shut behind him. “Sherrinford,” he stated in greeting, eyebrows raised at the closed door before he focused on his elder brother. “Mycroft. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  
The statesman smiled and sat with a sigh on his sofa, releasing the odor of sugar and old books into the flat. “We, Molly and myself, will be coming with you to Baskerville in a few days,” he said, digging the tip of his umbrella into the carpet. “Sherrinford-” he paused, eyes finding the natural born wolf wrapped in a towel exiting the loo before continuing, “Sherrinford has discovered that Molly is carrying a natural born Wolf and we want to be near to-to...when it happens.”

  
“Understandably,” he intoned, raising an eyebrow at the younger man. “It must be any day now, yes?”

  
Mycroft smiled tightly with a sharp nod. “She’s so uncomfortable. I hope it’s soon. For Molly’s sake.”

  
“This is going to be a stressful Moon,” the detective realized, hearing Sherrinford plundering the fridge behind him, obviously starving from his Shifts. “Evelyn made dinner upstairs. There’s some leftovers for you.”

  
“Thanks,” his younger brother intoned, tilting his head slightly to the right and heading out the door, his steps retreating up the stairs to apologize for missing the dinner provided by his niece and to beg for the remnants.

  
Refocusing on the man sitting on the couch, he plopped down in his chair, dressing gown billowing around him. “Are you ready for more children?” he asked, slightly curious, but not entirely caring.

  
“Of course, Brother Dear,” the British government stated, tilting his head as he looked at him fixedly. “How is the case coming?”

  
He cocked an eyebrow, nostrils flaring.

  
“You’re worried.” His elder brother could read him like a book, as usual. “You don’t want to make Evelyn worry needlessly, but there’s a werewolf killer on the loose and you have nothing to go on. So, naturally, you’re keeping John and Evelyn here for the Moon, in case the killer attacks Baskerville. They can help with the twins.”

  
He nodded once before rising. “I will see you in two days, then.”

  
With a silent nod, Mycroft rose and exited, baring his neck submissively as he went, consumed in his own thoughts. No sooner than the elder Holmes had left, his Mate found his way to the door of 221B.

  
“John?” he asked, looking up from his musings, concern perforating his features. “Is everything alright?”

  
The shorter, grey-haired man looked at him with light blue eyes, widened slightly with fear. “No,” the man murmured, shaking his head and moving into the flat to stand directly in front of him. “We need to talk.” The doctor’s trajectory continued until he stood before him, hands fiddling with the edge of his jumper.

  
“John?” he asked, his own eyes widening. “What -?”

  
“I-I need you,” the shorter man stammered before clearing his throat and clarifying. “I-I need you to listen. No interruptions.” the man’s gaze fell pointedly at his chest where his tags were hanging half in and half out of his t-shirt.

  
“Give me a minute, John,” he whispered, understanding that the other man wanted the Wolf at the moment, not the verbose detective.

  
Quickly, he went to his bedroom and stripped his clothing off and crouched, willing the Shift. John needed comfort, needed protecting, and his instincts screamed at him to take his hardier form to do so. The Shift was mercifully swift, being only a few nights from the Full Moon.

  
He shook out his thick coat, the fur bristling as the scent of John Watson reached his sharpened nostrils. _Gunpowder, tea, wool, a barely-there hint of lavender, fresh-cut grass, Evelyn_. Sneezing the odors from his nose, he nudged the door open and trotted back through the flat. When he rounded the corner into the kitchen, he stopped in his tracks. The doctor was seated in his usual chair, his head resting in his hands.

  
Whining, he quickly traversed the kitchen and sitting room, his nails clicking on the linoleum. The soldier’s head rose, eyes wide and his pupils dilated, looking at him as if he were water in the desert. The older man reached a hand out to allow him to sniff it. His tongue flicked out, licking the offered fingers before moving in closer, nuzzling and nudging until he was half on the chair, covering John as best he could.

  
“Sherlock,” the other man murmured, wrapping his arms around his middle and squeezing like he was the only thing keeping him afloat. “I have been experiencing something that I cannot understand. Ever since my accident with St. Pierre-” He growled, unable to help his interjection at the mention of the rabid Wolf. “I know, Sherlock. Let me finish.”

  
Unable to respond verbally, he nodded, nuzzling the scent gland behind the older man’s ear with a soft whine. “So…to put it bluntly, I’m becoming undeniably attracted to you,” the doctor said evenly, his roiling emotions only evident in his scent. He nodded, already aware of the man’s growing attraction ( _Dilated pupils, elevated heart rate_ ) and raised his head to look at the other man in his eyes before grinning, his tongue lolling out in a pant. Licking his Mate, he cuddled into him further, trying to show the other man that he had feelings for him, too. Feelings that he had tried to suppress but was failing to after all these years. “I know you do, Sherlock,” John murmured, scratching behind one of his ears (Sending his leg that was dangling off the arm chair shaking). “I’m just afraid. I’m not gay…right? And what about Evy? What would everyone else think?”

  
He chuckled, an odd, rumbly growl deep in his chest. He knew that the other man, from his current behavior, was overthinking their relationship and any further steps they could take. His child (Their child), would be thrilled if they became a true couple in all sense of the word. And he was not opposed to it either, despite his asexual tendencies. John made him feel things that he had locked away for so long…He rumbled happily. “If you say so,” John murmured, squeezing his ribs and pulling his head against his own, clearly scenting him.

  
Beneath him, the other man relaxed, his heart rate slowing to a more reasonable pace and his breath deepening. He, as usual, had had a long day. Snuggling into the other man’s chest, as was his wont when he was on four legs, glad that he could do so. Glad that John allowed him to do so.

  
The man relaxed beneath his heavy body and eventually fell asleep, his fingers wrapped in his thick, wavy fur. Unable to move, for lack of wanting to wake his slumbering Mate, he also settled down to sleep, sighing over John’s scent gland comfortingly.

  
That was how Sherrinford found them about an hour later, their limbs entwined, half-on, half-off his arm chair. The footsteps and light chuckle of the younger man woke him almost instantly, though he didn’t move more than twitch, very aware of the slumbering doctor beneath him. “Good Evening, Sherlock,” his younger sibling whispered, an eyebrow raising at the sight of the crowded chair before whipping out his mobile and snapping a picture. “For the little one who’s in bed,” he said with a smirk as the Wolf rolled his eyes. He snuffled along John’s ear tenderly before licking the protrusion, causing the man to sigh and shift slightly. “Yes, yes. Yours,” the natural born Wolf murmured before turning back to the door and moving to close it behind him. “Sleep well.”

  
The sound of the closing door made him realize that he was now entirely alone with John. The sound of Sherrinford’s footsteps above him alerted him to the fact that the younger Wolf had shifted to accommodate a night on the floor in 221C. It wasn’t that Evy _needed_ an adult with her at all times - by no means. It was his younger sibling’s protective streak that was telling him to be there for her, to watch out for her. She was his Alpha’s Pup and thus she was of the utmost importance. Knowing that his brother was on the job, he snuggled into his lightly snoring mate and allowed sleep to take him once again.


	19. Chapter 18: The Alphas

Whimpering woke him from his bed on the floor of 221C with a start, his ears and head shooting up. _Evy?_ he whined in return, looking down the hallway towards the young woman’s room. The whimpering continued, punctuated by tossing and turning among her sheets. _Nightmare_ , he realized, getting up with a sigh and stalking down the hall to the closed door. Thankfully, the door was not closed tightly and he was able to slide in through the gap in the door.

  
The teen was caught among her plaid sheets, her limbs wrapped uncomfortably in the materials twitching and tugging as she whimpered, “No! Stop! Please!”

  
Concerned, he nuzzled one of her arms, huffing along the length to her neck, which he licked, making the girl jump awake. The motion startled him and he leapt back with a soft yelp.

  
Blue eyes, widened, blinking at him as her breath became shallow. Afraid that he had frightened her, he flattened his ears against his skull and tenderly licked her fingers. Her brow furrowed and she murmured, “Uncle Sherrinford?”

  
He nodded, nuzzling her extended hand, whining softly. _Nightmare?_

  
“Did I wake you up?” the girl whispered, concerned. He nodded once and tried to shrug it off, his lupine shoulders shaking awkwardly. “I’m sorry.” Wanting to show her that he was more concerned about her than about his lack of sleep, he put his front paws on the bed and gave her a gentle shove with his wedge-shaped head. “I dreamt of Wolves, Uncle Sherrinford,” she murmured, playing her fingers through his ruff. “I ran until they cornered me. They got Daddy and he tried to attack me.”

  
He whined again, pulling his long, heavy body onto the bed, the mattress shifting beneath his considerable bulk. _I will stay. Protect you. Chase them away_. She smiled, blinking tiredly as she tugged him down to lay beside her. “Stay.”

  
Nodding, he licked her chin and snuffled her hairline before laying his head on her stomach, warming her and releasing her tense muscles with his heat. Evy smiled at him, hand still stroking his ears, as she closed her eyes and her breath deepened. _How true that dream was in a roundabout way, he realized. The Wolves are being Hunted and it’s only so long before they retaliate. John, however, would not be a victim - of that I will be sure. And, even if he was truly Bitten, he’d never attack his child. Evy is his ‘Pup’ and he’d protect her until his dying breath._ Smiling to himself, he settled down beside his Alpha’s pup - his favorite niece and allowed sleep to take him.

  
The next morning, he woke to find Evelyn Watson pressed against his back, arms wrapped around his neck, face buried into his ruff. Steady, even breaths played through his coppery coat, making him sigh calmly. His ears flickered about, catching the muted conversation that John was having with Sherlock. Both men were nervous, discussing options and possibilities for their relationship as Mates as well as the potential for John to become a target if the wolf murderer killed again.

  
He would be lying to himself if he wasn’t nervous about the potential Hunter on the loose and that he might or might not be targeted. He also understood, however, that he was not on the publicly accessible Registry and that he was not alone. He had a Pack behind him consisting of the his brothers - two of the most powerful men in England, Greg Lestrade with his pull at the Yard, and Molly and John, both brilliant in their own ways.

  
Steps on the stairs of 221 Baker Street did not make the child stir, and, not wanting to wake her, he continued to lay still. Sherlock would know where they were. He’d probably deduce that he was in his furry form; he usually was when he ventured into 221C, he realized.

  
The door in front of him opened, allowing a wash of Sherlock and John to stream into the room along with the father of the child wrapped about his ribcage. “Oh,” the doctor breathed, eyebrows shooting up as he blinked at him lazily, one ear trained on the older man, the other on the sleeping child behind him. “Wuh-wuh...?” The other man swallowed. “Morning.”

  
He whined in response, before panting his greetings. The motion jostled the girl behind him, who shifted, rolling away with a deep sigh. Carefully, he hopped off the bed and trotted past the doctor, giving him a gentle nudge before slipping out the door. His claws beat a tattoo on the hardwood as he skittered past a composed Sherlock, deep in his Mind Palace, and across the hall into his small bed room, closing the door behind himself.

  
Closing his eyes, he pulled himself from his four-legged form until he was squatting in the nude beside his bed. Sighing, he stood, rubbing his neck and shaking out his limbs before grabbing his robe. He pulled the silky creation over his skin, cinching his waist and exiting his chamber to join his family in 221C.

  
John was standing, arms crossed over his chest. “What happened?”

  
He gave him a small smile. “Evelyn had a nightmare and I comforted her. As Sherlock did for you last night.” He sighed, seeing that the other man was still defensive ( _Alpha Mate, through and through_ , he thought). “I care for your daughter, John. Evy is smart and kind and I love her. But not as anything more than my niece. She is the pup of my brother, the heir to his Pack. It is my duty to protect her and care for her, John. Just as it is my duty to protect and care for you. Do you understand that?”

  
The doctor swallowed, diverting his gaze. “I do understand, Sherrinford. I-I am just hormonal or something.” He paused, shaking his head before meeting his eyes.

  
Biting his lips, he broke eye contact with the grey-haired man. “I think that you and Sherlock could fix that issue,” he breathed, flushing. “But everything will be fine, John.” His eyes flickered upward to capture John’s equally grey eyes. “You are ready.”  
______________________________

  
The twins, John, and Evelyn had been left at 221 Baker Street with Mrs. Hudson tittering away about how much she was going to spoil them rotten. The thought made him smile - Mrs. Hudson was the perfect Beta, caring and kind. Loving his Pack’s pups as if they were her own flesh and blood. But, then again, she continued to refer to himself and John (And now Sherrinford) as ‘her boys.’ Despite their landlady’s enthusiasm for the night of pampering, his Mate was less than thrilled to be left at home. However, he was glad to know that the man was safe even if he was grumpy about being away from the ‘action.’ Not that there would be any action if he could help it.

  
Sherrinford sat at his side, his eyes closed though not asleep. His mind was, no doubt, working. This afternoon, night, and tomorrow morning were the busiest of his month and he would be ‘losing’ part of tonight to his four-legged form.

  
He would give the man his privacy, his gaze flickering to the front seats where Mycroft and a very pregnant Molly sat. Molly’s hand rested on her abdomen, stroking it tenderly through the light jacket that she was wearing. His elder brother, the Ice Man, had foregone his nickname to grab his wife’s hand, his thumb stroking the soft skin there as he drove.

  
The domesticity of it all made him smile. _Sentiment_ , he practically purred, _Weakness_. He knew that it was lie. More so now than ever before. He needed John and Evelyn, his Pack and his siblings. Even Mycroft in all his insufferable glory was important to him. He could not imagine life without any of them, and he knew that he would let his sentiment rule his actions over the next few days.

  
Turning his head, he breathed in and enjoyed the view. It had been a month since he’d been to Baskerville and he was glad to be coming back. It gave him a sense of homecoming, even though he loved spending his moon with his potential lover and their mutual child. _Tonight_ , the thought rang through his very bones, _tonight I will be on the moor, enjoying the freedom and keeping my senses searching for a potential threat_. As would Sherrinford, without a doubt. The thought made him happy. It had been a while since they had truly run together without the fear of being caught.

  
His vestigial tail wagged in his trousers, making him flush a bit, his mind flying to his growing closeness with the army doctor. John knew about the tail, of course. He had seen it a few times as he Shifted. The doctor would be surprised by the knot, unless Sherrinford had told him...He doubted it. _He probably thinks that every human male has one_. He rolled his eyes and looked out through the windscreen.

  
Baskerville loomed on the horizon, causing all the occupants in the car to tense. Sherrinford’s eyes flew open and he inhaled sharply. “So it begins,” he intoned, running a hand through his hair before refocusing. “Mycroft, Molly and I will go to the hospital wing. See if we can confirm the Pup before tonight, and, more importantly, before his birth. Sherlock, we’ll join you in the family flat, have Angelo’s, and wait.”  
The car pulled into the park and Mycroft shut off the engine with a sigh. “Home sweet home,” the statesman murmured, releasing his belt and opening his door. “I’ll come get you, Darling. Wait for me.”

  
He chuckled as Molly huffed, “How he thinks I’m getting anywhere without his help is beyond me. The ultrasound machine had better be close by, Sherrinford, because Lord knows that I cannot make it very far.”

  
“Yes,” his youngest sibling chuckled, opening the door and exiting the vehicle, stopping to inhale deeply, checking his territory. “It’s close.”

  
“Good!” the mortuary stated, beaming at her husband as he helped her exit the passenger seat, greeting him with a kiss. “Thank you, Myc.”

  
The rest of them slipped from the car, a sense of duty falling over them. “We’ll see you soon,” he stated, turning from the group to head to the flat, packages of mouthwatering food in hand. The Shift was just hours away and he could feel it in his bones.

  
His younger brother, probably scenting his anticipation, gave him a small smile and a sharp nod. “Of course.”


	20. Chapter 19: The Veterinarian

He turned towards his buildings - his home, knowing that Mycroft and Molly would follow. Even though so much was hanging over his head, it felt good to know that he was back at Baskerville, doing what he truly loved doing. No murders. No impending courting ritual and mating (He hoped). Of course, he had to deal with all of his patients, each with their own problems but that was nothing new.

  
The ultrasound room was relatively close to the entrance of the second building, his hospital wing. While the surgery, equipped for both human patients and their four-legged forms, seemed normal, it was odd for him to have an ultrasound machine. However, with Sean’s wife in a family way, he felt the need to check on their child and he had petitioned the government for one (It was human). Thus, the ultrasound machine was purchased. Swinging the door open, he gestured Molly and his eldest brother into the darkened room. “Let’s take a look, shall we?”

  
Molly smiled at him, but Mycroft’s mask was in full display. _He’s hoping that I’m wrong_ , he realized. Turning from his brother with a slight flush on his sharp cheekbones, he flipped the machine on and pulled a pair of rubber gloves on to his large hands. Gathering his supplies, he plopped himself down on a wheeled stool and pulled up to the examination table, where Molly had pulled her shirt up and Mycroft held her hand lovingly. “I’m going to apply the gel with my hand to see if I can coax a Shift,” he stated. “Is that alright, Molly?”

  
She nodded, biting her lips nervously. With a soft smile, he generously applied the cool, blue gel to his sister-in-law’s abdomen before laying his hands over the rounded area. Pausing, he began to slowly rub the gel, feeling the babies beneath his fingers try to move in their cramped quarters. The child on the left side twitched a bit but did not object to his attentions ( _It never did_ ). Inhaling slowly, he moved his hands to the right, covering the left twin. The baby instantly began to thrash, whether out of dislike or kinship, he wasn’t sure.

  
Pulling a hand away, he grabbed the wand and placed it over the moving portion of the woman’s stomach. The wand shook a bit in his hand as his nerves mounted. “It’s alright, Sherrinford,” the mortuary murmured, placing a hand over his and guiding it to her stomach. “Let’s meet your new nephew.”

  
The image that appeared on the screen made everyone pause. Wriggling within Molly Hooper-Holmes was what appeared to be a small dog-like creature, kicking it’s limbs and waving it’s head, complete with muzzle, about unhappily. He moved his left hand, the one still left on the pregnant woman’s abdomen. The image below the wand thrashed further, it’s body trembling back into a larger, more human baby. His vestigial tail was on full display.

  
Looking up at his brother, his eyes large and apologetic. “I-I...” he stammered, turning off the machine.

  
Molly stopped him, absolutely beaming at him. “I’m so _happy_ , Sherrinford. He’s beautiful.”

  
“And now we’re prepared,” the statesman intoned. “I hope that you’re alright with child sitting because well...”

  
“And he obviously likes you!” Molly cut in, still beaming.

  
“One can only hope,” he murmured, smiling a bit at the mortician’s happiness. “It seems like we’re going to be spending quite a bit of time together.” He pushed the ultrasound machine back and offered Molly a towel to wipe her abdomen. “We should get back to the flat. Sherlock will be…Sherlock.”

  
“That is the truth,” Molly groaned, rolling herself and her precious cargo from the bench with the help of her attentive husband. Mycroft remained silent on the matter, simply wrapping an arm around the woman’s waist and beginning their slow progress back to the flat.

  
The apartment was, thankfully, in one piece when they arrived, though the detective was pacing enough to wear a track into the wooden floor. His scent had perforated the area, saturating it with his unique essence. He inhaled deeply. _Forest, chemicals from his experiments, take-away, a faint hint of something else. It was oddly comforting._

  
The Turned Wolf stopped, a look of anticipation on his face. “And?”

  
He gave a small nod, waiting for his brother and his wife to break the news verbally.

  
“We will be having two beautiful and healthy baby boys,” Molly beamed, her cheeks flushing. “One of them takes after his uncles. Both of whom will help babysit on nights like tonight.”

  
The detective’s eye roll was large and impossible to ignore. “I suppose that it might be necessary-”

  
“And you did such a lovely job with Evelyn,” Mycroft threw in snidely, a smirk twisting his upper lip, “I don’t see why you wouldn’t do the same with your nephew.”

  
He glanced back at Sherlock who was watching him intently, head cocked slightly to the side out of curiosity, not submission. He smiled, his teeth flashing as he laughed. “Sherlock,” he said again, his rumbling laughter flooding his system. “Everything’s going to be okay, Brother. I promise you.”

  
The taller man narrowed his eyes at him, partially in confusion and partially in defeat, unsure of what emotion he should be showing on his face right now. “What do you mean, it’s all going to be fine!? It’s not fine, Sherrinford! **None of this is fine!** You can say that all you’d like but we both know that nothing will be _fine_ until that killer is brought to justice!”

  
“Sherlock.” The single word carried an immense amount of weight. It settled on the room like the blanket, except heavier, more commanding. Their eyes snapped to the only woman in the their midst. “You know that there isn’t anything that you can do about the case at the moment. There is nothing more to uncover - you just need time. Besides, why are you worrying needlessly about it? It’s one incident; it’s probably isolated. So, take a deep breath and try to enjoy tonight! After all, the little one could be here before next month and you’ll be stuck on proverbial nappy duty.” She beamed brightly, her husband’s lips twitching themselves into a smile of their own.

  
The meal passed quickly, everyone feeling excited if slightly stressed about the upcoming evening and the following day. The Wolves ate as if it were the end of the world, as did Molly, who was eating for three, one of which was a Natural Born Lupus sapiens. The dishes emptied rapidly and Mycroft’s cake was consumed in hearty bites until nothing was left. The detective rose and cleared the plates, loading them into the dishwasher one by one.

  
“Sherlock,” Sherrinford’s baritone murmured, “I need to run the final checks on my patients. I’ll meet you back here?”

  
“Sure.” His sibling gave him a rare smile, joy at the thought of running beneath the Moon flowing out of every pore.

  
“We’ve got a few things to go over in our flat,” Molly intoned, rising slowly from her chair and gripping her husband’s arm. “Right, Myc?”

  
His older brother coughed, “Yes, of course Darling.” The pair left, arm in arm. “We’ll stop by later to let you out.”

  
Listening to Sherlock mutter something about ‘blasted lack of thumbs,’ he followed the couple out. His patients, and the force of the Full Moon, would not wait.

  
Knocking lightly on doors, he checked on occupants, chatting about their families and their ( _nonexistent_ ) social lives. He paid special attention to Stevenson’s Pack, knowing that they had had a rough couple of weeks. This shift would be difficult, their instinct would be to search for the missing man until their human logic pulled through. They were veteran Turned, so it wouldn’t last for more than the first half hour, but it would still be hard on them. He asked them to meet with him the following morning, just to check-in. He knew that they would need it. Losing a packmate was stressful. The last time he had lost a packmate, he had Turned thirty men. He made a note to be sure that their enclosure was completely sealed without chance of escape.

  
Next, he checked every occupied cell. Many had pictures tape to the outside walls while others were playing sounds of music and the telly over their intercom systems. Clothing was left inside the cells, filling them with the scents of home, family, human food, anything that they had come into contact with over the last day or so. Everything was arranged as usual, families and friends in place and comfortable for their long night. Pack enclosures were opened and Pack members greeting one another after a month-long separation.

  
His final stop was at Sean’s flat. Knocking on the door, he waited for it to open and tipped his head when it did, submitting in another Wolf’s territory. Elizabeth, glowing beautifully with a small, four month bump, greeted him. “Dr. Holmes! How are you?”

  
“Well, thank you,” he smiled, “And yourself?”

  
She rubbed her stomach thoughtfully. “Pretty well. Would you like to come in?”

  
His smile widened briefly. “I could step in for a few minutes. I’m just making the rounds before the Moon. Making sure everyone is comfortable.”

  
Again, even though he was invited in, he stood by the door, the hair on the back of his neck rising as the scent of Sean flooded his nostrils. “How is Sean?”

  
Elizabeth beamed. “He’s doing well. Shifting right now, or he’d tell you himself. He got a promotion at work this past week. He’s a guard now. Isn’t that wonderful?”

  
His brow crinkled. “That is great, Elizabeth. I am glad that his status has not held him back.”

  
“Oh, that’s _why_ he got the promotion,” she explained. “Seems like private contractors want body guards and security that can watch out for more than just the obvious threats. With a nose like Sean’s, he can find poisons and smell weapons and disease.” She shook her head. “It seems a bit fantastical to me, Dr. Holmes, but it pays brilliantly, so we can’t complain. Not with the little one on the way.” She stroked her stomach lovingly.

  
He smiled, mulling the job over in his mind. “Yes, of course.”

  
As sunset neared, he finished the preparations of the tanks and made his way back to the apartment and his Pack. He opened the door to find Sherlock sitting on the couch, eyes closed, hands under his chin. Molly looked uncomfortable, her hand pressed against the (no doubt Shifting) baby and Mycroft looked bored. “How is everything?” the detective asked quietly, shutting the door behind him as his eyes opened slowly.

  
“Well, for the most part. Stevenson’s Pack will be a wreck for the first hour or so, but after that, they should be alright. Remind me, when all this is done, to pay Sean a visit. I want to hear more about his new job.” He cocked his head playfully before asking, “Shall we?”

  
He began to stride through the flat, heading for the bedroom to allow his own shift to occur. “You okay in the loo, Sherlock?”

  
The other man nodded, rising slowly from his seated position on the couch. He spun on his heel, already feeling the familiar ache in his bones as the moon sang to him, calling him into his other form.  
_ _ _ _ _

  
The night on the moor was perfect. Having his brother there, flanking and leading the attack on a brace of rabbits through the tall grasses and streams, reminded him of his boyhood. The nights when he would run with the other members of his Pack, their paws beating a tattoo on the solid earth until the rich tang of blood flooded their mouths. He could not imagine living any other way. _I wonder what Imogen would think…_

  
Regardless of his late night, he rose when the Shift fell over him at sunrise. He stumbled through his routine, pulling his suit about his body and fixing his tie before bursting his teeth and hair. Molly, being the wonderful human being that she was, had a pot of coffee brewed and a plate of toast sitting on the table.

  
“Thanks, Molly,” he mumbled around a mouthful of toast.

  
The woman smiled at him from the stove where she was scrambling eggs. “No problem. The babies were keeping me up anyway. Might as well make breakfast!”

  
He snorted a chuckle before draining his mug. “Are you sure that Mycroft is the Holmes brother you want?” he teased as his eldest brother staggered into the kitchen, wiping sleep from his eyes.

  
“Don’t be absurd!” the man retorted, shooting him a dark glance while pouring a heaping cup of coffee for himself.

  
He couldn’t help but laugh at the retort from the British Government even as Molly sent him a suggestive wink. The small joy that he got from teasing Mycroft was not lost on him. _To think: I almost didn’t have this_.  
_ _ _ _ _

  
After shoveling his breakfast into his maw, he went to the holding cells and flats, some of which had their occupants already placed within them. Today was his most important day of work for the month, after all.

  
He enjoyed his patients, his fellow Wolves. He’d never say it out loud, but he felt like he had finally found his calling in life. The men that passed through his door were like his children. Each success, whether it was a remembered night or an acceptance into an existing Pack, brought him a sense of pride and accomplishment while every failure (usually to live with the Wolf and accept it) broke his heart.

  
The voice on the other end of the line was giving him a bit of both.

  
The director of Torchwood, the main transformation center for the K13s, a man named Edward Palbury, did not know what it was like to live as a Wolf or to even contain something other within himself. He was a government official, chosen to head the position because of the years he had spent as a member of the military science division. Due to his background, that was how he ran his facility and the policemen appreciated it for that - most of the time. The Wolves, however, did not.

  
“Is there a reason why you find that keeping them in separate kennels is better than allowing Packs to form?” he asked, his head resting on his fist, his elbow propped on the desk.

  
“Dr. Holmes, I don’t want an insurrection on my hands! Letting these, admittedly, human Wolves form pack units is giving them a chance to band together against the establishment!”

  
“You do realize that most of your charges work for the establishment?” he sighed, his fingers beginning to rub his temple.

  
“Their still part animal.”

  
He bit back a growl as the other man continued, “I’ve seen K9s turn against their handlers. I don’t need infectious K13s running the place.”

  
Sherrinford cocked an eyebrow. _Last I checked, they already were_. He was the man in charge of all transformation centers, last he checked. “Fine, Corporeal Palbury,” he relented, “But please, especially with the Yard pushing to allow some of their K13s to Shift on duty, open the yards at least. A caged animal is the one that will bite the hand that feeds it.”

  
He signed off before releasing his pent up growl and turning back to the list of his waiting clients. There were more important matters than one center manager who refused to be a decent human being.  
_ _ _ _ _

  
When he returned to his flat that evening, he was glad that the day was behind him and he was quite grateful for a quiet night and an early return to London in the morning. After all, with the impending birth of the Pups, he’d be needed there.

  
A faint knock on the door roused him from his thoughts. Sherlock, collar in hand, stood before him. “Want to go for a run?” he asked, his eyebrows raising.

  
With a grin, he pulled his own collar from his pocket. “Yes, please.”


	21. Chapter 20: The Expectant Father and the Turned Wolf

He couldn’t stop pacing. He never could when he knew that his baby brothers were running about the moor. While his Werewolf Registry protected wolves when they ran free, it was public knowledge that the Turned remained in captivity during the Moon. To find a Wolf running free would stir national, nay international, panic and for it to be discovered that it was Sherlock and Sherrinford Holmes, the trouble-making brothers of Mycroft with his _minor_ position in the British Government, would not bode well for any of them.

  
He leaned against his umbrella, his eyes scanning the moor. “Come back, Brothers Dear,” he muttered, checking his watch. _6:45am, half hour to sunrise._ “Don’t call it close.” The transition would not be awful for the detective, he knew. Even less so for Sherrinford, if he decided to Shift at all. He sighed, squinting out through the dim light.

  
Something across the vast wastes of the scrub grass and rock stirred. He smirked as the movement grew clearer, his eyes beginning to pick out two distinct four-legged forms loping easily across the wild, untamed hills. “Welcome back,” he murmured, relief flooding him.

  
The wolves slipped beneath the gate, panting slightly at their exertion. Sherrinford looked pleased and content, but, then again, he viewed this form as himself, just furrier. Sherlock also seemed happy, glad to have had time on the moor. He had always liked the moor, ever since that first transformation.

  
He gave the pair a tight-lipped smile. “Let’s get you gentlemen inside, shall we?” he intoned, turning, umbrella swinging at his side. He knew that they followed, even though they were silent, padded paws on gravel and grass. A soft whine escaped one of them, sad to leave the wild for the restricting white of the building. The sound made him smile sadly as he swiped his card to gain access to the residential building and strode in, followed by the sound of claws clicking along the linoleum. He heard a tired sigh. “The guest room is empty if one of you wishes to take it.”

  
Unlocking the door to his family’s flat, he ushered the duo of wolves in and knelt. Sherlock’s nostrils flared but he sat, the sunrise beginning to cast lengthy shadows across the floor. After a moment’s hesitation, Sherrinford followed suit, keeping one eye on the Alpha. “I’m just going to take these off,” he murmured softly, keeping his voice deep and low, non-threatening. He quickly pulled off Sherlock’s well-worn collar, shaking the tags free and ruffling his neck a bit, causing his younger sibling’s tail to thump on the floor a couple times. He repeated the action with Sherrinford, who took the collar from his hand and began to chew it off in a corner of the kitchen. He watched Sherlock retreat down the hallway and into the guest room, the door clicking shut behind him. Silence descended upon the flat. Molly, and hopefully, the babies within her, would continue to nap for another couple hours.

  
_There’s nothing I can do now_ , he realized and rationalized with himself. _I should get a start on breakfast. I know of two people who will be starving…_ He shook his head. He could use a couple of hours of sleep, too. Lord knew that he’d barely be sleeping when the twins came.

  
He toed his shoes off and lined them up by the door beside his brothers’ pairs and his wife’s pairs ( _yes, multiple pairs_ ) of shoes.

  
“You were right,” he murmured to the curled up body of the russet wolf that was covering one of his couches, earning him a soft rumble from Sherrinford. He breathed a quiet ‘good night’ as he passed the door to the guest room, knowing that his middle sibling heard him. With a sigh, he continued toward his bedroom and his napping wife.   
_ _ _ _ _

  
He woke up in the early morning light, his sharp, wolf ears picking up on the fussing of his sister-in-law. Sighing, he rose, the mattress jostling beneath his weight, and stretched, his back popping gloriously. He shook out his coat before shifting back into his human form. It took about thirty seconds and felt almost comfortable now, the pain feeling almost sweet. A release instead of a punishment. _If only the other Turned saw it that way_.

  
Standing on his own two legs, a bit shakily from hunger, he found his pajamas and robe on top of the bureau. _Brother..._ , he thought, thankful (Not that he’d tell Mycroft that) as he pulled the fabric over his skin, noting how irritating it was after the soft fur that he had worn for much of the last twelve hours.

  
With one final look at the disheveled bed and the view of the moor through the window beyond, he turned the knob with a soft squeal and stepped out into the hallway. His brain whirred about within him. He wondered, briefly, about the four newly Bitten, stuck between St. Pierre and his escape. _I never asked Sherrinford how they had done…_ After all, most Turned were less than thrilled at their lot in life right after transitioning. The medicinal aid research had fallen a bit to the wayside, but, with a Wolf murdered in cold blood, it might be something to pick up. Being able to hide in plain sight might come in handy…

  
His bare feet padded through the flat, leading him towards the sounds of his younger brother and sister-in-law as they babbled and ate their breakfast. He smiled at the domestic scene before him. Molly had a large mug of tea in front of her, echoed in Sherrinford’s equally large cup of coffee. “Good morning, Sherlock,” she said with a frazzled smile. “Did you have a good time yesterday?”

  
He smiled with tight lips, moving towards the full coffee pot, filling a mug to the brim and taking a large gulp of the scalding liquid. “Mmm. Ah,” he hissed, his tongue smarting in his overzealous first sip. “I had a lovely time.” He walked over to the table and sat down facing the mortuary. “I am hazarding a guess that not all of the residents of the Transitional Facilities would say the same.” He took another long draught from his mug before setting it down, his keen eyes watching Molly and Sherrinford exchange looks.

  
“I wouldn’t jump to conclusions, Sherlock,” his younger brother cut in. “But, yes, some are still becoming lost, fighting their instincts instead of working with them. It’s more of a nuisance than anything else, really, seeing as I can only do so much and some of the other Facility heads are less than helpful.”

  
He shook his head. “How are the little ones?” he asked, already cataloguing the changes in Molly’s figure since he had seen her last and changing the subject tactfully.

  
“They’re a handful,” she chuckled. “Why I ever thought that having another set of twins was a good idea, I don’t know!”

  
“Twins are known to run in the family,” he stated. “How are you feeling about…? I never asked.”

  
The other Wolf shook his head with a chuckle. “ _You_ would never,” she said pointedly, “But it is true, one of them takes after his uncles and I am pretty pleased about it, actually.”

  
He snorted a bit into his coffee. “Wait, what?” he coughed the offending hot liquid from his lungs.

  
“It will be fine.” Molly emphasized each syllable with clarity. “Really, Sherlock, he won’t bite.”

  
“Not yet,” he muttered, hesitantly shooting Sherrinford an apologetic look. The other man raised an eyebrow at him even as his cheeks flushed with embarrassment, displeased by his reaction. “What are your plans?”

  
“You see,” Molly stated, inclining her head, “There are two perfectly capable babysitters…”

  
“That may not be the best idea,” he intoned, causing his younger sibling to growl at him pointedly. “I like children - for the most part,” he replied with a shrug, “It’s just that no one trusts me with them, being a high-functioning sociopath and all.” His lips twitched as he padded into the kitchen to begin making breakfast. Sherrinford appeared to have eaten everything that had been cooked already.“Does Mycroft have any more on the Stevenson murder?” he queried, cracking an egg into the pan. “We need to find and stop him. Before more innocents are harmed.” He took another mouthful of coffee. “I was thinking about revisiting the idea of a hinderance or a cure. Something to protect those that don’t want their status to become known.”

  
Sherrinford looked offended at the suggestion while Molly gave him a small, knowing smile. She knew that keeping the secret was hard and the wolfsbane injection was truly awful with very little end gain.

  
“Between the three of us, we’ll be able to find a cure,” the mortician murmured, girding her own mug of caffeine a bit tighter, “Or a decent suppressant at least. Honestly, anything would be better than the wolfsbane delay. It might take some time, but we’ll fix it.”

  
The blue eyes of his younger sibling rolled. “I feel like I have little to contribute to this, seeing as I have never lived a ‘normal, human’ life. I am proud of who and what I am. I’d proclaim it from the rooftops if I knew that my family couldn’t be harmed by it.”

  
“What happened to _keep our existence a secret?_ ” Sherlock interjected, mouth half-full. “You are _natural born_ but face it, you’re just as afraid as I am of being discovered. Though, in all honesty, I’m surprised that my _condition_ has yet to be leaked to the presses. Once I’m exposed, you will be put under the lens and some journalist will do some digging into your private records and will find out the truth.”

  
The other wolf leaned forward, his jaw set. “You make it sound like you want to actually find a cure, Sherlock,” he said pointedly. “Unhappy?”

  
The taller man chuckled. “Come now, Sherrinford, you know that that is not true.”

  
“Well,” the younger man said, sliding another sausage onto his plate, “Then believe me when I say that _I am willing to do whatever it takes to protect my Pack.”_


	22. Chapter 21: The Natural Born Wolf

Not wanting to wrinkle his suit, much less get it all slobbery by sticking it into his mouth as he trotted through the waking streets, he took a cab, his leg bouncing nervously. He closed his eyes and inhaled slowly through his nose, releasing it in a rush of air from his mouth. The sensation was calming but, as he thought about what he was going to tell Imogen, his nerves rose back up. After all, he had a nephew he had to think about now and, whether he wanted to be with the human woman or not, Pack always came first. _Maybe I should have stopped to get flowers...or something to tell her that I loved her, truly and desperately. That she completes me. Oh God, I’m going to sound like an absolute idiot. ‘I love you so much but I have to go away_ for about four years. Is that ok? Will you wait for me?’ God, she’ll dump me on the spot!

  
The cab pulled up outside her flat building and, tossing a wad of bills at the cabbie, he slid out and took another calming breath. “Okay, Sherrinford,” he murmured to himself, “You can do this.”

  
He raised his hand and slowly pushed the buzzer to Imogen Crowley’s flat, praying that she was in and that he hadn’t woken her.   
“Hello?” a sweet, soft voice answered his call, making him smile. His nerves instantly melted away.

  
“Good Morning, Imogen,” he replied, pushing the button to speak to her, “It’s Sherrinford - Sherrinford Holmes.”

  
“Oh! Sherrinford!” The teacher sounded shocked and surprised to hear his voice. “Come on up!” The alarm told him that the door was unlocked, and, taking one more calming inhale, he opened the main doors and made his way to her apartment, his heart racing.

  
The door to Imogen’s flat was ajar, the woman hanging out of it, watching his approach. “I’m glad you’re here!” she exclaimed, wrapping her arms around his waist in a hug, before standing on her tiptoes and capturing his lips. “It’s a wonderful surprise!”

  
He beamed at her, his lips pressed together in his widest grin. “I’m glad,” he said, following her into her flat. “I’m sorry it’s so early - it’s just...I needed to see you.”

  
Imogen snorted and smiled again, her teeth out. “After all the excitement at Baskerville, all you could think about was me?”

  
His smile faltered a bit, because, in all honesty, he had been thinking about her but probably not in the way she thought. And with the coming baby, a wolf-muderer on the loose, and his patients, she had not been a top priority. _Pack comes first - always_. Opting for honesty, he said, “Well, it was nice to think of you when I wasn’t busy worrying about my other responsibilities that come with the Moon.” He paused before uttering the dreaded words. “Imogen, we need to talk about something.”

  
Her happiness instantly disappeared. Plopping down on the chair opposite him, concern clouding her beautiful features, she breathed, “Oh.”

  
He shook his head. “It’s nothing bad, I swear. It’s just...” He bit his lips and tipped his head to the left, feeling the tags shift along his chest, an idea popping into his mind. “I need to be honest with you, and, if it comes back to bite me, then so be it.” He inhaled, gathering his courage. Imogen’s beautiful brow furrowed in confusion, her mouth slightly ajar as a glint of a tear hung at the corners of her eyes. _Maybe she does really like me as much as I like her_ , he mused before forging ahead. “I really like you, Imogen. Very, very much, but my work is going to take me away for a while. I-I know that it’s too much to ask you to wait for me. You’re beautiful and intelligent and independent and someone else will inevitably come along who will prove to be a better man than me, but…” He paused, gathering his courage, his hands wringing in his lap, “Would it be alright if I called you sometime? I can let you know when I’m back in the neighborhood - we could get coffee or have dinner or something? I…”

  
The woman across from him beamed, her teeth flashing in the morning light even as her lips trembled and her green eyes clouded with worry. “Of course I’d love to hear from you, Sherrinford. I’d love to grab a coffee when you can, but I just don’t understand why you’re leaving…Or why you can’t tell me. Is it Baskerville? Is there something wrong with one of your patients?”

  
He swallowed, not sure how to breech the subject. The woman would understand doctor-patient confidentiality, so he opted to explain it in that way. _Must protect my Pack_ , he reiterated to himself even as he wanted to tell the petite brunette everything and more. “I’m getting a new patient, yes. A type of patient that I’ve never dealt with before and he will need most of my time and attention for a while.”

  
“Can I ask what makes him special, or does that break Doctor-Patient confidentiality?”

  
He shook his head, wanting to tell her everything, even the truth about himself, but answered, “The only thing I can tell you is that he is the first of his case in England and it’s a great opportunity for me and my research. It could lead to so much for the Lupus sapiens, I couldn’t turn it down.”

  
“I understand,” the woman murmured. She leaned in and placed a firm kiss on his cheek, He could smell her salty tears as they escaped the hold of her eyelids. “Keep in touch, Sherrinford. I-I wish you the best.”

  
Feeling like his heart was being torn out of his chest by a pair of forceps, he nodded, also fighting back tears. _God, I love this woman!_ “You too, Imogen. It’s been absolutely amazing to be with you.”  
_ _ _ _ _

  
He wasn’t entirely sure why he had packed a bag. It was highly unlikely that he would be wearing many articles of clothing while he was at Downing Street. He still had a flat at Baskerville where many of his meager belongings were located and he’d still be returning there on the days around the Moon, his nephew in tow with the rest of his eldest brother’s family. Even then, he’d only spend the patient time as a man and the rest as a Wolf, the Pup lacking any sort of control around the Moon.

  
Regardless, he had wound his way through the security, flashing his ID and license at the guards that were there to protect the Prime Minister, and was standing on the doorstep on Mycroft’s ‘secret’ home. Ringing the bell, he shuffled his small bag from hand to hand and waited.

  
The door swung open a few seconds later to reveal the imposing figure of Mycroft Holmes. “Sherrinford,” the older man intoned, “Thank you for coming.”

  
“Of course,” he replied with a small smile as he passed the other man to enter the foyer. “How is Molly?”

  
“Resting,” her husband responded. “She’s been put on bed rest until the babies come, though I think that she’s going to be going into labor soon. At least for her sake.”

  
He inhaled, nostrils widening slightly. “Tomorrow,” he murmured, “Probably tomorrow.” Mycroft gave him an odd, questioning look, making him explain. “I can smell the other Wolf. His aroma is growing stronger, but he’s still masked by Molly.” He paused, nose wrinkling, “You positively reek of protective instinct.”

  
Mycroft didn’t reply verbally, though his eyebrows rose before turning to the stair. “I’ll show you to your room,” his brother intoned, striding up the stairs. Still rather in awe of how his eldest brother lived, the sheer size of the foyer, much less the mansion status of this residence made him wonder why Sherlock chose to live the way he did - in a dingy flat that he paid rent on. Mycroft stepped off the stairs on the second floor landing and followed the hallway to it’s end, opening the door on the left side. “It faces the back yard,” the older man stated, “And it’s only on the second floor. Figured that’d be better to deal with on four legs. Besides, the nursery is on this floor. First door on the right.”

  
He nodded, lips pressed together. “It’s great, Mycroft. Thank you.”

  
The room was large - much larger than the one that he had at 221 Baker Street. In fact, he was sure that his room on Downing Street was larger than the combination of Sherlock’s sitting room and kitchen in 221B. The bed would be a nice change from his rather rickety twin cot in the spare room, seeing as he could sprawl in the middle without any of his limbs touching the edges. The window had a window seat beneath it, giving him the opportunity to look out the window for hours at a time, observing his niece and nephew at play. There was an ensuite bathroom, which was also very large in comparison to any logically-sized room for relieving oneself or for bathing. His brother, obviously not wanting to get his fur on any of the cushions or furniture, had a large, very soft-looking doggie bed tucked in the corner. Everything was a shade of off-white or light grey, which was slightly odd, in his opinion, missing the eclectic mess that surrounded him in 221 Baker Street, the Holmes family flat in Baskerville, and even the homes that he had been raised in in Germany. _If he wanted to keep my fur from touching anything, then why choose white to decorate a russet Wolf’s room?_ he wondered, setting his small suitcase on the bed and pulling his clothes out of it. The closet was large enough for him to walk into, making his meager clothing look rather sad in comparison to the space. _Dear Lord, Mycroft! I don’t think I’ll have enough space to host a party with fifty people in here_ , he thought sarcastically, pulling his two pairs of trousers from his sack and placing them rather unceremoniously on the nearest shelf.

  
Needing to do something about the rather sterile room and the invasive expectant parent smell that clung to every surface, he finished placing his clothing in the closet and began to strip his clothing off, willing the Shift in order to claim the room as his own. He shook his coat out, the loose fur falling all about his body, his claws scratching the wooden floor. The room shifted when he was on four legs, making him notice the doggie door in the main door, allowing him to leave the room while leaving the door closed and keeping his more mobile niece and nephew out of his room. _Nice thought_ , he snorted, nose pressed to the ground as he traced the trails made by the maids and housekeeper as they had prepared his room.

  
A sense of adventure overtook him and he began to romp about the rooms in earnest, his claws taking grooves out of the room’s once perfect oak floor. The tub was large enough that he was able to jump in and slide from one side to the other with an undignified yip (Something that he did twice). Leaping back out, scrambling for purchase on the tile flooring, he scurried from the loo and leapt up onto the window seat, flopping on it and rubbing and scratching his back into the silvery-grey cushions. Smugly, he jumped off, pleased to find his scent sinking into the room and his fur coating the once pristine furnishings. Fixing his eyes on the prize, he leapt onto the bed and rolled about, rumpling the sheets and scenting the bland comforter with his own comforting aroma. _Take that, Mycroft_ , he panted jovially, _Dog hair on your furniture. Oh no!_ His sides shook with his odd, breathy laughter, taking delight in the simple things in life.


	23. Chapter 22: The Youngest Holmes Brother

After making his room a bit more homey, he Shifted back and reentered the world of the humans. He had yet to see his niece and nephew, much less his poor (hugely pregnant) sister-in-law, and he really needed to say hello to them. The vastness of the house settled on him as he closed the door behind him, noting that the dog door was not visible on the outside. He smiled, glad that his brother had been considerate of his privacy.

  
His sharp hearing lead him along the corridor to the stairwell and down the stairs to find his sister-in-law. The scent of Wolf and Molly led him through the art-littered halls, though one blank wall gave him pause, smelling strongly of Mycroft. He tilted his head, staring at the blank stretch, his nostrils flaring. _A secret room, Brother?_ he wondered, smirking slightly. _. And yet, predictable as ever_.

  
He gave the wall a small nod, figuring that his elder sibling could probably see him, and continued on his way, finding Molly lying with her feet up on a settee in the sitting room where he had first broken the news of the Pup. “Hello Molly,” he said cheerfully, smiling brightly. “How are you today?”

  
The woman looked up from the book she was reading with a bit of a jolt. “Oh!” she breathed, hand fluttering to her stomach, “Hello Sherrinford. I’m about ready to pop, I think. And you? Everything to your liking?”

  
He wandered over to the settee and took an armchair across from it with a soft exhale. “Everything is great,” he said, “Thank you for asking. I appreciate your willingness to do this, Molly. Both you and Mycroft are too kind.”

  
The woman’s face became serious. “For what?” she queried, “Wanting to raise our own child to the best of our abilities or for giving you a place to stay while you generously help us with our Pup? Because both are things that we all want and they are making us so happy. Though I am ready to be done with this bedrest business. I feel so lazy, it’s ridiculous.”

  
Shifting a bit in his chair, the natural born wolf replied, “Soon, Molly. Very soon, I think.” His eyes traveled to the rounded stomach that punched upwards like a beach ball. “What are your plans for the birth? Hospital?”

  
The woman shook her head. “I can’t,” she whispered, “Not with a Pup. Too dangerous.” Her hand traced the globe that was her abdomen. “We’re using a midwife and having a home birth. It’d be great if you could keep the twins busy during...I can’t have them running about like the little terrors they are. Too stressful.”

  
“Sure,” he said, understanding the importance of parental bonding at birth and he had no plans on getting in their way. “When are you planning on telling them? The Pup will have very little control around the Full Moon, including the days before and after, and I’ll need to be in my four-legged form more often than not. Pups long for comfort that can only come from that form, even if they can’t match it all the time.”

  
“We’re planning on telling them tonight at dinner.” The woman paused, her smile slipping a bit. “If you’re up for it?”

  
“Why not?” he said with a shrug, “They don’t need to know about Sherlock. I feel like he should tell the twins on his own time. It is his right, after all.”

  
Molly reached her hand out towards him comfortingly. He reciprocated, grasping the phalanges in his long fingers tenderly. “It’s fine, Molly,” he murmured seeing the comfort that she was trying to exude in her eyes and her sentimental smile. “Sherlock can handle himself and I am not ashamed of who I am. As I’ve said, I would announce it to the world if I wasn’t afraid of hurting my family with the backlash. I am what I am and I would not change a thing.”

  
The red-head beamed at him. “So Imogen doesn’t care?!”

  
“I haven’t told her,” he sighed sullenly, nostrils flaring in remembrance of her sweet scent. “No, we’re on a bit of a break of sorts. The Pack comes first. I’ll call her from time to time and meet when I’m free. On New Moons, probably, if that’s alright?”

  
“Of course it’s alright with me!” the woman exclaimed. “I’m so glad that you’re keeping in touch with her, Sherrinford. You deserve to be happy.”

  
His lips twerked into a small, soft smile. “Thanks, Molly,” he whispered.

  
He sat with the woman for another hour or so, chatting away about anything and everything, including how much she missed working in the morgue and how she really wanted to get back to working in the lab to help create a medication to help the Wolves that wished to refrain from Shifting. He didn’t think that it would be possible, but he did know that he had patients that were still not connecting the Wolf within their human selves. Anything, including Sherlock’s wolfsbane injection, would seem like a relief to them.

  
“How are you doing Mol?” his eldest brother asked from the doorway, his hands in his pockets. “Are they bothering you?”

  
She laughed. “When are they not, Myc?” She shook her head. “Are you coming to help me get to dinner?”

  
The older man smiled and entered the room. Respectfully, he moved back from his brother’s Mate, and rose. “Shall I get the twins?”

  
“They’ve already been informed,” Mycroft groaned, straining a bit under Molly’s increased weight. “But thank you. We’ll be in the dining room tonight. We can meet you there.”

  
“Sure,” he breathed, inclining his head and taking his leave, not wanting to impose on the husband and wife’s private moment together.  
His footsteps followed his nose through the kitchen (where he startled the cook), and into the dining room. His niece and nephew, still in their school uniforms, were seated at the table poking one another in the ribs, each jab harder than the last. “Well hello!” he said happily, glad to see the two troublemakers, “How are you both?”

  
“Uncle Ford!” the twins yelled in unison, leaping from their chairs and rushing into his open arms.

  
“It’s so wonderful to see you!” he chuckled, their enthusiasm welling up with in him, unable to resist. He nuzzled them absently, inhaling their similar scents. “How are you? Tell me everything that you’ve been up to!”

  
The children immediately launched into their lives, talking over, around, and through each other with such delight that he could only smile and try to absorb everything he could. Eventually, his sibling and his turbid wife joined them, Molly sliding down into a well-cushioned chair, her husband adjusting her pillows and propping her feet as the woman flinched. “Mum?” Lucy asked, her eyes clouding with worry, “Are you alright?”

  
Molly gave her daughter a tight smile, obviously in pain. _Contractions?_ he sniffed, _Not yet. Close. Early morning_. “I’m just a bit too large for this chair, darling,” the woman groaned, rubbing her stomach. “That’s all.” Mycroft didn’t look so sure but he smiled anyway. “Uncle Sherrinford is here to be with you when the babies come. And he’ll be staying with us for a while - if that’s alright with you?”

  
The twins agreed, of course, thrilled to spend time with him. They chattered away, talking about all the things that they were going to do with him. They rarely were able to see each other - they believed that he lived at Baskerville, as Mycroft and Molly had kept them rather sheltered from the world of the Lupus sapiens. The great surprise of the evening, however, was yet to be revealed. Their small worlds would be completely turned upside down - he just hoped that it would be for the better. Their younger sibling would not be able to control what he was no more than he could and he prayed that his siblings would be as understanding as Sherlock and Mycroft.

  
The British Government commanded the room, the twins instantly settling as he took his seat at the head of the table, hands folded in front of them like well-trained circus animals. His eyebrows shot up, not entirely surprised. The eldest Holmes was certainly a man of order, just as Sherlock was one of chaos. “Tell me,” he intoned, summoning the serving staff forward with their dishes laden with food, “How was school today?”

  
Nathaniel looked at his plate, coloring slightly. Lucy put a rather large scoop of potato into her mouth. “Nathaniel?” Mycroft pressured, “What happened?” The other man’s icy eyes focused on his soon-to-be-eldest son.

  
The young man squirmed, his cheeks turning a shade that was akin to his hair color (A rather bright, coppery shade he had inherited from the recessive genes of both his parents. Lucy had some how escaped with a rather lovely chestnut mane). “We’re studying something scary, Dad. Lucy thinks they’re cool but I’m worried.”

  
“About what, Darling?” Molly asked, eyes flooding with worry.

  
“We’re studying wolves, like the wild ones in Siberia, and the teacher is reading faery tales with wolves and all they do is eat children! I’m just afraid that they’ll come eat me and then eat Lucy because all she wants to do is pet them. And then Vincent said that the wolves in faery tales are real. That he saw one on the news. That he was a man then he turned into a wolf and _ate_ five people!”

  
He froze, stomach sinking. _We’re never going to be accepted, he realized, not for the first time, No matter how hard we work, humans will be afraid of us thanks to ancient stories, modern retellings, and the skewed media attention_.

  
Molly was staring at him, of that he was certain, her hand pressed over the Pup that rested inside her protectively. Mycroft’s eyes softened. “Nathaniel, Lucy,” he murmured, “That man is gone. And only one of the men was not able to make a full recovery. None of them were eaten. And there aren’t going to be any wolves that are going to come and eat you. Those are just stories to scare children into behaving.”

  
“But how did he do that Dad?” Lucy whispered, eye huge and shining, “How did the bad man become a wolf?”

  
“Because,” he cut in, setting his utensils down on his empty plate, “There are some people that can do that. That’s what I research up at Baskerville. And I help the men, like the four that were bitten, come to terms with the fact that they can become wolves now too. But you mustn’t tell anyone - it’s top secret.”

  
Lucy’s eyes widened further, focusing her intense concentration and a surprising amount of admiration on him. “How did you find out about the men, Uncle Sherrinford?”

  
He smiled a bit, shooting a look at Mycroft before he inhaled slowly. “Well,” he began, building suspense for the two little ones that sat across from him, their faces lighting up. “The reason I know about the wolves is because I am one. I always have been and always will be. I was born with the ability. It runs in our family, you see, and one of your new siblings is just like me.”

  
The little girl’s lip popped out. “How come I’m not a wolf? I’m not special enough?”

  
“Oh Lucy,” he said, still smiling, “You’re so special, just the way you are. Besides, being a wolf is not just a ‘cool’ thing that I can do. It’s hard because there are a lot of people that are scared of me because of who I am. I don’t have very many friends and I have to be careful about who I tell my secret to so that no one hurts anyone that I love because of it. Can you keep my secret?”

  
The twins were both nodding vigorously, their eyes larger than their half-empty dinner plates. “Good,” he continued with a small smile, leaning back, “Because I’m going to be running about here and I’m going to need a lot of help about the house. It’s awful not having thumbs.”

  
The twins laughed, their fright, he hoped, forgotten, and the mood became considerably lighter. “Now children,” his brother intoned, “If you have friends over and Uncle Sherrinford is a wolf, you need to pretend that he’s our dog - Jack. Can you do that for us?”

  
“Why can’t we just say that he’s our Uncle Sherrinford?” Lucy asked, so enamored with the idea of a man becoming an animal that she had yet to grasp the danger.

  
“Because, Silly,” he twin said, crossing his arms over his chest protectively, “If Uncle Sherrinford is discovered, then people will be mean to him and to our new baby brother and we can’t have that! They’re nice!”

  
“Oh,” Lucy said nodding and grasping the concept. “Okay! It can be a game! Oh!” she gasped, “It can be like we finally have a dog!”

  
“Yes,” he interjected, “But only if you or your parents have friends over or if we are out together and I’m furry. Any other time, no matter what I look like, I’m still your uncle and I should be treated as such.”

  
The twins became solemn and nodded. He made a mental note to get them to come out of their shells a bit more. He did not need to be _that_ strict a disciplinarian (Mycroft had already done a right good job of that) and they needed to learn that having fun was possible. As the younger, and _obviously_ most fun Holmes brother, he was just the man to do it.


	24. Chapter 23: The Mother and the Uncle

She woke up with a gasp, pain seizing her lower half. _Contractions_ , she thought, her hands flying to her stomach, feeling the muscles tense sharply.

  
“Myc?” she whispered as the contraction passed. Her husband snored on, rolling onto his side. “MYC!” she hissed, giving him a shake.

  
“Hmmmm?” the British Government hummed, his eyes blinking lazily. “Mol?”

  
“Myc,” she whispered, “They’re coming. Call the midwife.”

  
“What!?” her husband said, sitting up quickly, his hands flying to her stomach. “They’re coming? You’re certain?”

  
She simply raised her eyebrows as another contraction froze her muscles. A warm gush escaped her legs, soaking the sheets and mattress below her. “ _Yes_ ,” she gritted, “ _I am very sure_.”

  
Mycroft Holmes leapt from their bed and rushed to grab his mobile. She smiled, despite her growing discomfort, and moved to stand on her unsteady feet. The contractions became more frequent and more painful, but she knew that it would be a few hours yet before the big show. Molly closed her eyes and inhaled slowly, centering herself before rising. “I’ll get Sherrinford up. Let him know,” she grunted.

  
“I can get him,” her husband interjected, “You should get into the tub, make yourself comfortable.”

  
“Already out the door,” she gritted, bending over as another spasm rocked her body, making her lean against the door frame. “You could get the tub ready. I’d love you forever.”

  
“You already do,” Mycroft chuckled, rubbing the small of her back and pressing a kiss to her brow before continuing into the ensuite bath.

  
She hummed in appreciation and continued to move out the door and down the hall. The stairs, one flight down and, eventually, one flight back up, proved to be difficult and her progress was slow. She was greeted on the second floor landing by a massive tawny wolf, head cocked and ears pricked forward. His head was slightly bowed and submissive, nostrils flared and a soft whine issuing from his throat. “You’re already awake,” she said, tossing her hands up. “Of course. You could probably smell the contractions on me.”

  
Sherrinford shook his head, resulting in his entire body shaking, his claws skittering on the wooden floor. “No,” she read from his body language. “You were already awake?”

  
He shook again. Taking a small step forward, his head still bowed submissively, he nudged her wet legging. “Of course,” she murmured, scratching her brother-in-law’s triangular ears, “You smelled my waters breaking.”

  
The wolf chuffed out his response, leaning into her leg and allowing her fingers to continue to scratch his ears, his tail twitching. Another contraction wracked her body, making her gasp, her fingers tightening subconsciously on what she was grabbing onto: Sherrinford’s fur. The wolf whined but stood his ground beneath her, supporting her body with his head and shoulders.

  
Once the contraction passed, she released his fur with a soft apology and a whisper of gratitude. That one was was strong, worse than it should have been at this point in time. Everything was moving quickly. Sherrinford licked her fingers and gave her a gentle push toward the stairs. “ _Help_ ,” she muttered.

  
The wolf circled around her, brushing her legs and stomach before stopping on her right side, the thick nape of his neck offered to her hands. “Thanks, Sherrinford,” she murmured, wrapping her fingers in the thick, outer fur, before taking a few steps toward the stairs. “You’re being all too good about all of this.”

  
Sherrinford whined again, turning to look up at her, his tongue hanging out almost tenderly. “I know,” she whispered, taking each step one at a time, one hand wound through the wolf’s ruff and the other on the bannister. “You have one very lucky nephew and I have one very lucky son.”

  
She hissed, rocking back and forth between two steps, as another contraction seized her whale-out-of-water frame. Sherrinford leaned heavily into her, rocking forward and back on his legs to match her shifting weight, whining loudly, his eyes soft but attentive, focused on her. As the pain eased, she murmured, “Thank you,” and pulled her brother-in-law into her in a quasi-hug. The wolf responded by nuzzling her thigh, his warm breath easing some of the tension that she didn’t know that she had.

  
“Molly?” Mycroft’s soft voice drew her attention to the top of the stairs, “The midwife’s on her way.” Her husband descended the stairs, taking her hand that had been on the bannister, and wrapping his other arm around her waist. “Let’s get you off the stairs, darling.”

  
“Okay,” she breathed, her legs shaking a bit with the strain of walking with her off-balance body. “Is the tub ready?”

  
“Yes, darling,” the government murmured, “I’ve got it all ready for you.”

  
Between her husband and his youngest brother, she was able to get back to the master suite. Upon reaching the door, Sherrinford stopped, opting to lay just outside, his ears twitching, always listening even as his eyes focused on her. She was grateful that the younger man had decided to remain outside. She was not going to be wearing too many articles of clothing very soon and he was protecting her modesty.   
_ _ _ _ _

  
The wooden floor was cool beneath his body, but it was the best he could do for the moment. His instincts were roaring through him, knowing that the pups were so close, and he felt the need to protect the den. His humanity lurked about the edges, but, as he listened to the slop of water and the soft hisses that issued from the bedroom, he growled at himself, reminding the humans that he could not let anyone near his Pack.

  
There was a knock on the main door, causing his focus to center on it, his legs propelling him to the top of the stairs. He growled, low in his throat as a warning as the knock sounded again. He let the growl open up into a soft yip, not wanting to wake the pups that slumbered on the floor below.

  
Footsteps, a heavy tread accompanied by the scent of sugar exited the bedroom. “What?” Mycroft muttered as the knocking came a third time. “That was fast.” His eldest sibling raced past him, down the stairs and across the foyer, opening the door while wheezing slightly. “Thank you for coming so quickly.”

  
“Of course,” came the soft voice of a mid-aged woman. “How is she?”

  
“Fine,” Mycroft replied, his steps ascending the stairs slowly as he talked, “Her waters broke about an hour ago. Now she’s in the tub.”

  
“Great,” the midwife replied, her lighter tread following that of the British government. “Not too stressed?”

  
“No,” the older man replied. “The family dog was a huge help.” Biting back the urge to growl at the statement, he huffed softly, hunkering back down outside the master bedroom door, head resting on his paws. Mycroft was protecting him and, through him, the family history and reputation.

  
His sharp eyes picked up the reappearance of Mycroft and the introduction of a homely woman with long grey hair and a large duffle bag. She smelled sterile but had an underlying aroma of incense which was surprisingly comforting. _Midwife. Help for Molly_. He raised his head, making the woman jump a bit at the top of the stairs. “He’s a big beast, isn’t he?” she breathed, walking by him even though her fear skyrocketed. He opened his mouth, panting, and gave his tail a small wag. _Friendly_.

  
“We found him in the pound when he was much smaller,” Mycroft said, bending to scratch the top of his head like he would for any family pet, “He just kept growing. Probably got some mastiff or Irish wolfhound in him.”

  
“Yeah,” the woman murmured, her eyes wide but her fear subsiding a bit. “Let’s see to the Missus, shall we?”

  
“Of course,” the older man intoned, gesturing the woman into the master suite and shutting the door behind with a soft click. With a soft whine, he rose and shook out his coat, wanting his scent to be present, if faint, for the pups. One ear still focused on the door, he trotted down the stairs for a few more hours of sleep. The dog bed was rather more comfortable than he’d like to admit, and his human bed was luxurious. Either would be preferable to the floor.

  
_Sleep now. New Pups in the morning_.  
_ _ _ _ _

  
The new babies were perfect. She knew that they would be ( _Call it mother’s instinct and pride_ ). The midwife’s eyes had widened at the barely noticeable vestigial tail on Thomas Olivier but she didn’t say anything about it, which made her feel better about the obvious differences from his twin brother, Benedict Marlow. Here, wrapped in her arms, they appeared to be exactly the same, their eyes closed in bliss as they nursed the nutritious colostrum from her breasts.

  
The flash of a camera bulb made her look away from her newest children and up at her husband. “They’re beautiful, Molly,” Mycroft murmured, moving to sit on the edge of their bed with a tired sigh. He stroked one of the twin’s hairy heads with a soft smile, his sentiment showing.

  
They had been up all night, the morning sun was just peeking through their curtains as the twins yawned and she handed one of the blue bundles off to her husband to burp. Exhaustion was coming on fast, making her glad that Sherrinford had come to stay for a while. The older twins would need a sitter to get them ready and off to school today, seeing as she and Mycroft would not be leaving this room for a while. Of course, her in-laws would be over as soon as Mycroft called. She prayed that he’d wait until the afternoon at least. They didn’t know anything about Thomas’ inheritance from his uncle but they’d discover it soon enough, she was sure. It would certainly wake old memories and regrets.

  
As if sensing that she was thinking about him, a soft whine followed by a couple of faint scratches came from the doors. Mycroft sighed, rolling his eyes. “Let him in,” she murmured. “You know that Sherlock will do the same when he arrives.”

  
With a small, but tighter smile, her husband rose and walked across the floor in his stocking feet in his pajama bottoms and t-shirt. “Morning,” he intoned to the wolf who slipped by him, tail wagging slightly though his head and ears were rigid. _He’s wary, worried that I might instinctually move to protect my babies from him_ , she realized, remembering Sherlock’s hesitancy almost a decade ago.

  
“It’s alright,” she said, gesturing to the mattress beside her with her head, her arms full of her new twins. “Come meet your nephews: Thomas and Benedict.”

  
The coppery wolf padded across the wooden floor, his head and tail lowered submissively. Stopping beside the bed, her brother-in-law gave her a soft whine, double checking. “You can come up,” she murmured. “I’ll even let you hold them, like Sherlock did with Lucy and Nathaniel.”

  
Not needing anymore reassurances, the powerful haunches bunched and the Lupus Sapiens leapt onto the bed, making the mattress sink under his weight. Slowly, Sherrinford nestled up next to her, his heat relaxing her body further as it called for sleep. With a smile, she carefully laid one twin against his flank and the other against his shoulder blade. Nostrils flared, his long neck snaked his wedge-shaped head around to his hip, sniffing the furthest twin before giving him a small lick and moving onto his twin. With a rumble, he nuzzled this one, really sniffing and licking him. _That one is Thomas_ , she noted, _Of course Sherrinford would be able to tell which was which_.

  
“He likes you,” she smiled at the younger man.

  
Her brother-in-law licked the baby once more before nuzzling her own arm tenderly. “Thanks, Sherrinford,” she murmured, drifting to sleep.


	25. Chapter 24: The Babysitter and the Alpha

After his slow, steady breathing and pulse lulled both newborns back to sleep, he whined, needing to get out of the bedroom to begin his own day. Molly had long since fallen asleep, as had Mycroft. They had had a long night, after all, so he couldn’t grudge them for it. However, they still had another pair of twins downstairs, a couple of eight year olds that would be waking any minute now, and no adult in their general vicinity. _Why am I the one who’s worrying about this? They’re not my children_. He banished the thought with a snort. _They are Pups in my brother’s Pack, my brother’s children. That’s why_.

  
Beside him, Mycroft rolled over, his mouth falling open and a snore erupting from it. The sound startled the newborns, who began to cry, despite his comforting rumbles and gentle nudges. “Wah!” Molly exclaimed, startled awake by the mewling of her new children. Focusing again after the crying registered in her sleep addled brain, she murmured, “Oh, no! I’m so sorry darlings. Daddy’s a loud snorer, isn’t he?” She gently pulled both small, swaddled bundles into her arms. “I’m so sorry, Sherrinford. I never meant to sleep this long!” she smiled. “We’ll be alright here. Go! Eat, shower and please make sure that Nathaniel and Lucy are ready for school. The car will be here for them at 7:30. Tell them about their brothers but don’t let them in. Okay?” The woman yawned as she diverted her attention back to her children, shh-ing them gently.

  
He nodded, showing his understanding, and gave her neck a small nuzzle. Inhaling deeply, he stretched, his back popping lusciously, and jumped lightly off the bed, making Mycroft snort in his unshakeable slumber. Shaking his coat out, he padded across the wooden floor and, rising on his hind legs, he opened the door, slipped out, and shut it behind him again. He had a full day ahead of him and not enough sleep to run on. Once the older twins were up and off to school, a nap was most certainly in order.  
_ _ _ _ _

  
He knew the moment it had happened. How could he not? His Pack was expanding and one of it’s newest members was like his brother, a Wolf in all ways. So, when his elder sibling rang him in the late morning, he was not surprised. The wall that stretched before him had seemed to be making a bit more sense when the phone rang. Unfortunately, the rather shrill and obnoxious ringing of his mobile had caused any trace of his thoughts to disappear as if caught in a sudden gust of wind.

  
“What?!” he spat into the receiver and biting back a growl.

  
“Sherlock,” the smug voice of Mycroft stated over the line, “Am I disturbing your sad excuse for a thought process?”

  
He rolled his eyes with a strong exhaled growl. “I suppose that congratulations are in order?” He picked up a newspaper clipping, examining the date carefully before sticking it over the photograph of the deadman’s dilapidated kitchen.

  
“Why, thank you, Brother Dear,” the statesman said, a hint of pride in his voice, “Two more boys: Benedict Marlow and Thomas Olivier. We would like the...Pack Alpha...to welcome them to the family before Mummy and Father arrive from the country.”

  
“When?” he breathed, closing his eyes and hanging his head. His parents were still difficult to be around, trying to baby him to prove that they still cared for him. It was worse for Sherrinford.

  
“This evening. For supper.” Mycroft sounded about as thrilled for the visit as he felt.

  
“John works until three,” he mumbled, “We’ll be over as soon as Evelyn returns from school.”

  
Not waiting for a response, he hung up his mobile with a muted grumble. The announcement fueled his need to find the killer and his frustration at his lack of ability to find any trail to follow that hadn’t already been tread seemingly millions of times. His expanding Pack was in danger of getting exposed and, with that exposure, made an instant target for the killer. After all, they were the reason that the killer (The _hunter_ , really) existed in the first place. Every predator needed prey and big game hunting was a common past time among those that had status or wanted it. _Well...isn’t that an idea..._ , he mused, pulling his laptop over to search the NSY database (Legal access granted as an added bonus for being on their payroll) for men or women of means and a penchant for collecting rare game.

  
While his search turned up several interesting men, and one rather peculiar woman, he doubted that any of them were the culprit. None of them seemed to go after anything as peculiar as another human being in a pelt. His frustration dissipated as the sound of trudging steps accompanied by the lighter tread of a lighter soul reached his ears.

  
Cocking his head, he allowed a slip of a smile to play at his lips. His Mate and their Pup were home. Time flew when he was lost in his Mind Palace chasing ghosts of promises and solutions.

  
Rising a bit stiffly, he pulled his robe tighter about his thin frame and walked to the door of 221B. He opened the door and leaned against the frame, smiling broadly yet tight-lipped at the two people who were making their way up the stairs.

  
“Sherlock!” Evelyn exclaimed, rushing up the last few steps to wrap her arms about his waist. He allowed his arms to return the gesture, pressing his nose into her hair and inhaling her enticing scent. Resting her chin on his sternum, the teen continued. “How was your day?”

  
“Unproductive,” he exhaled, still not a fan of pleasantries, “I hope that you do not have much schoolwork to do. We are needed at Mycroft’s.”

  
Evelyn inhaled excitedly though John’s voice was the one that he heard next. His Mate looked tired and a bit haggard but, as he heard about Mycroft’s demand, he began to look wary. “They’ve come.”

  
“Yes,” he replied kindly, reaching out to place a hand on the soldier’s shoulder. “I need to welcome them, acclimatize to their scents.”

  
“And one is Natural Born?” John’s eyes were sad and questioning, already knowing the answer.

  
He did not grace the question with an answer. “We should leave soon. I wish to avoid running into my parents.”

  
“Ah,” the doctor breathed, moving to ascend the next set of stairs. “We’ll be ready in fifteen. Come on, Evy.”

  
The girl smiled at him again, giving his hand a knowing squeeze, and followed her father up to 221C. He watched then go with a soft smile playing on his lips, his nostrils flaring at the lingering scents of gunpowder and fresh-cut grass. _Pack. Family_.

  
Turning from the door, he left it ajar and moved through his flat to his bedroom. He hadn’t bothered to dress today, and, honestly, he didn’t see the point of dressing for his trip to his eldest sibling’s home, considering the fact that he would simply shift there. However, he knew that John would be disappointed if he wandered out of the flat in his dressing gown. He pulled on a pair of slacks and a button-up, calling it a day.

  
He exited the flat quickly, surprised to find John (in a fresh jumper) and Evelyn, looking extremely excited, waiting in the stairwell. “Let’s call a cab and get this over with,” he intoned, flipping the collar up on his Belstaff and hurrying off down the stairs.

  
“Sherlock.” John’s voice gave him pause and he turned, doing nothing to cover his impatience. The doctor continued, “Everything is going to be fine. Two Pups, Sherlock. It’s pretty amazing, and you have a right to be proud.”

  
“Why should I be proud?” he asked, confused, his brow furrowing. “They are not mine.”

  
His Mate simply shook his head. “Whatever, Sherlock. Let’s just go.” The man pushed by him, his frustration apparent. _It must have been a long day at the clinic. It wasn’t vaccine day again, was it? No diseases or even the common cold are raging through London. Judging from the way the doctor was flexing and relaxing his hand, he guessed that it was school physical day._ He bit back a growl and followed the other man down the stairs, aware that the teen was following him while still allowing him to have his own space.

  
The cab ride was silent. John was tired and nervous. Evelyn was beaming and excited. He was...well, he was also a bit anxious, though he’d never admit it out loud. He had never thought, even after the Bite, that his life would have come to this. His unconventional Pack seemed to become more conventional by the day, the count up to three Lupus Sapiens, two of which were Natural Born, and eight humans (plus his parents who didn’t quite fit but could never be truly excluded). For a once solitary creature, it was disconcerting to have so much power and responsibility over twelve people (as John was his equal, he could not be counted as one that he had any power over and he knew from experience, that John would simply do that he wanted anyway).

  
When they arrived at Downing Street and had knocked on the door, he was a bit surprised to find Sherrinford there to meet him, dressed rather shabbily in jeans and an old t-shirt, his feet bare and his hair mussed. The man smiled, tilting his head to the left ever so slightly as he stepped back.

  
“Come in,” his youngest sibling murmured, taking coats and setting them haphazardly on a chair, “Mycroft will be glad that you’ve come.”

  
“Not Molly?” John asked, his eyes wide and his brow furrowed, analyzing the situation.

  
The perfume of new baby, spices and the inevitable scent of Wolf played through the air beneath the musk of the new parents. “Molly is sleeping,” he muttered striding towards the stairs, his nose leading him on. “Nursery on the second floor?”

  
“Yes,” Sherrinford replied, following behind him with the others.

  
“When did they arrive?” John asked, ever the doctor and the conversationalist. Everything about the babies’ arrivals was easily readable in Sherrinford’s sunken eyes and slightly hunched shoulders.

  
“Too bloody early in the morning if you ask me,” the Natural Born Wolf murmured with a soft chuckle. “I fear I’ve gotten less sleep than either of the parents, tending to Nathaniel and Lucy as well as being up with the newborns. Maybe I can sneak away while you’re here, catch another hour or two?”

  
“Of course,” his Mate insisted, even as Evelyn sighed, moping that she wouldn’t be able to spend time with her favorite uncle. As if sensing her disappointment, he watched his sibling wrap the girl in a side hug, an arm slung about her shoulders, nose pressed into her hair.

  
At the top of the stairs, the detective followed his nose to the last door on the left, noting that it was the room that Sherrinford had been placed in. “Mind?” he asked, already reaching for the handle.

  
“A bit, yeah,” the younger man replied a bit harshly. “I don’t need it smelling like Alpha. That’s one of the reasons I sleep in the spare bedroom at 221.”

  
Sherlock growled his frustration and headed to the loo, disliking the idea of leaving his clothing there and changing in a tight space. There wasn’t much he could do about it, though. _Sherrinford may be a Beta in his Pack but he was an Alpha in his own right and a more powerful one at that_. And he understood the man’s desire for his own space. After all, he was never pleased to have another Wolf in 221B, including his younger brother. It took so long for the scent to truly leave the flat.

  
“You may want to hurry,” the younger Wolf stated, his arm still wrapped around the teenager in a side hug, “Unless you want Nathaniel and Lucy to find out about you as well. They’re supposed to be home in a half hour.”

  
“How did they handle you?” John’s question was pertinent, but surprised him nonetheless.

  
Sherrinford smiled reassuringly. “Well.” He gave Evelyn a tender squeeze. “Children are typically very open and curious. It is their parents and teachers that breed prejudice. We, obviously, have no issues with Mycroft and Molly.”

  
“Obviously,” he stated, deliberately opening the door to the bathroom with a sharp gesture.

  
John shot him a look, making him roll his verdigris eyes. “We’ll play it by ear.”

  
He trudged into the loo and closed the door to a crack, stripping quickly before pulling the collar out of his trouser pocket and latching it about his neck. Squatting in the tight space, he willed the Change to come, feeling the sweet pain of release and the further sharpening of his senses.

  
Shift complete, he pushed the door open with his nose and trotted back down the hall to his family. Evelyn reached out her hand, allowing him to sniff it and lick her fingers before she reached behind one of his ears and scratched, setting his hind leg quivering. Biting back the urge to pant, he huffed, giving her wrist a grateful swipe of his tongue and moved to the nursery door.

  
The room was large, certainly larger than his bedroom at 221B, at held two cradles, a changing table, a pair of dressers, several toys and stuffies, and a pair of armchairs. Mycroft was seated in one of the armchairs, a baby in each arm sleeping soundly, a soft smile playing on his lips.

  
He paused at the door, waiting for the new father to give him permission to enter. Mycroft, while one of the lower members on the Pack totem pole, had the right, as the parent, to deny him entry or access to the twins.

  
Mycroft sighed, giving him a small nod. “Glad you could come,” he murmured, “Meet your nephews: Thomas and Benedict.” The man shifted his arms slightly, allowing him enter and snuffle about the babies.

  
As much as he wished to not admit it, he did like the Pups. The Wolf was easy to determine via scent. He sniffed the other one first, memorizing his scent, including the odd hint of Lupus sapiens that lingered about him. “That’s Benedict,” Sherrinford stated from his side, his own nostrils flaring.

  
The second child, Thomas, began to thrash in his blankets. He jumped back, startled as Mycroft tensed. “I’ve got him,” his youngest sibling murmured, taking the babe and sitting, cross legged on the floor. “We’re unstable for the first couple of years.”

  
The ‘we’ did not escape his attention as Thomas thrashed himself into a rather grumpy tangle of blanket and limbs. Watching Mycroft out of the corner of his eye, he snaked his neck downward and snuffled the warm, short hair on the top of his head. The Pup gave a small whimper, one of his fisted hands batting him in the nose. Growling lightly, he nudged the baby and sat, simply observing.

  
“What handsome fellows,” John murmured, tickling Benedict’s chubby cheek. “Congratulations, Mycroft.”

  
“Thank you,” the older man murmured with a soft smile, his eyes darting to his youngest son. “They were quite the surprise.”

  
“In more ways than one,” Sherrinford murmured, cradling the Pup into his warm chest with a strange look on his face. His blue eyes shot up to meet those of the doctor. “Would you like to hold him, John? Let him smell you so he can recognize your scent?”

  
The doctor gave a peculiar smile, but reached out his arms, taking the squirming Pup. Thomas gave another whimper, his nose obviously working, nostrils flaring at the new odor that held it. “Hello,” John murmured, a single finger stroking the Pup’s head, gently teasing his ruddy cheeks. “I-” A strange look played across the soldier’s face. “I remember when Evy was this small. So precious, even then…”

  
The detective growled, his head tilting towards the doorway. _Twin Pups are home_. A second later, the sound of a door slamming caused both men to jump. The smell of denim and cotton sank into his flared nostrils.

  
Sherrinford moved to the door, leaning out. “The Pups are back,” he said, stating the obvious. “They’ll be wanting to see their new siblings. They haven’t seen them yet.” He paused, looking down at them. “What do you want to do?”

  
Sherlock lay down, done with hiding from his family. If Sherrinford could place his trust in the two children, then he could to. He sighed, waiting for the onslaught of Puppy enthusiasm, glad to have his Mate and child beside him.


	26. Chapter 25: The Oldest Natural Born Wolf in England

He was not surprised by his Alpha’s decision to remain in his furred form. It was incredibly difficult for him to keep his human form in the presence of the newest Pup, his instincts tugging at him to Shift and cuddle the defenseless child, even though Thomas wasn’t biologically his. The pull was, no doubt, just as strong on his brother.

  
Placing that thought at the back of his mind, Sherrinford refocused. He gave them, especially Evelyn, whom he had missed desperately, a soft smile before rushing past to stop the over-eager elder pair of twins.

  
Jogging lightly down the hallway, he beamed at the excited pair. “How was school?” he asked at the top of the stairs, holding up his hands in a quieting gesture.

“Where are they?” Lucy squealed quietly, her eyes wide. Nathaniel looked just as excited but he masked it well.

  
“They’re sleeping in the nursery,” he murmured, having to throw his arms out to stop the twins from running. “Wait! Wait!” The twins looked at him, their eyes pleading at him to let them go. “There are a few things that you need to know before I let you go to them.”

  
Nathaniel blanched slightly, leaning in with a whisper, even as his eyes locked on something further down the hall. “Is it because of the Wolf?”

  
“Yes,” he murmured with a soft smile. “Remembering that one of your new brothers is like me is important. You cannot let him bite you.”

  
“Would we become Wolves?” Lucy murmured almost excitedly, her hands drawing up to her chin as she grinned.

  
“Not yet,” he replied. “But it is part of his training that he learns to be in control of his instincts and that includes biting.” The twins nodded their understanding. “Also,” he continued, “There is one other Lupus sapiens here. He is friendly and he loves you very much.”

  
“We know him?” Nathaniel reiterated, still looking warily down the hallway.

  
“It’s Uncle Shock.” Lucy’s educated guess surprised him. She had obviously inherited some of the family’s extreme intelligence. Mycroft would be proud.

  
“Yes,” he smiled, “Would you like to meet them all?”

  
The twins nodded, each taking one of his hands, and they headed down the hallway. The Wolf, large and chocolate brown, had exited the nursery. He was visibly waiting, head up, ears pricked, just outside the door. Sherlock’s tail gave a small wag, John appearing behind him with a small, uncertain smile on his face. “Hello Lucy! Hello Nate!” he said, his smile broadening as the children approached.

  
“Hello,” Lucy said softly, waving at the pair. The Wolf whined, tail going, ears pricked and attentive.

  
“You can pet him,” Sherrinford murmured, reading his body language easily, “But let him sniff you first.” The twins followed his instructions and re-met their uncle. Sherlock became the big teddy bear that he usually became in his four-legged form. Eventually, the Alpha’s Mate nudged them towards the door and their cousin and new siblings.

  
“Come,” Sherrinford murmured, gesturing with a hand. “Let’s meet your new siblings!”

  
The new twins were still sleeping, one in the arms of Evelyn and one in the arms of their father. With a small smile, he gave Mycroft a nod and headed to bed, beyond exhausted. “Let me know if you need anything,” he muttered before exiting the nursery and entering his own room where he promptly collapsed on his bed.

  
When the knock on his door sounded, he instantly decided that it was his least favorite sound in the world. “Coming,” he groaned, rolling off his stomach and pulling his t-shirt down.

  
“Mother and Father are here,” the muffled sound of Mycroft came through the wood of the door. “Sherlock is still...furry...he’s being immature, as usual.”

  
He opened the door, looking his eldest sibling in the eyes blearily. “I’ll join him. I’m not talking to Mum.”

  
“How childish of you,” the British Government chided.

  
“Don’t even,” he growled, moving to close the door, “Not every child was lucky enough to be raised by adoring a doting parents, Mycroft.” Not waiting for a response, he closed the door on his insufferable older brother. Bending, he unlocked the doggie door and pulled his t-shirt and jeans off. Kneeling, the floor cool against his skin, he pulled himself toward his four-legged form.

  
The Change was swift, as usual, and he exited with his tail proud and erect. He met Mycroft on the stairs but passed him, not wanting to be reprimanded for his inability to spend lengths of time with their parents in his more talkative form. The British Government simply did not understand how painful it was for him. There were times that he was sure that Sherlock didn’t quiet understand either.

  
Mycroft, being the eldest and obviously most wanted son, had enjoyed a rather privileged youth, in his opinion. He, on the other hand, had been given away in less than forty-eight hours after his birth due to his genetic inheritance and rather poor control over the matter. His great uncle had been kind but gruff and his childhood had been spent primarily on the run from Hunters with the elderly man, a wealth of scotch, and a lot of territorial wolf fights. Escaping the home for school at age ten, even a boarding school where the head master, who asked no questions and locked him in a large closet (And then the spare gymnasium) for the Full Moons, was a bit of a relief. Unfortunately, due to his ‘odd’ behaviors (That he had taught himself to curb to appear more ‘human’ during his teenaged years) and his strange disappearances, he never made any true friends there and had begun to plan a true escape to a place where he would fit in. A place where, even if he had to make it on his own, he would be loved for who and what he was. University in England, in the same country where he knew the family that had given him up resided, seemed like the wise first step.

  
His parents, to their credit, were trying. Still, he felt as if they were trying more for Sherlock’s sake than for his own. He was a lost cause, born with a pelt and a tail. Sherlock had been born normal and had simply suffered an accident. The feeling of loneliness, of never being able to fit in, and, at times, self-loathing, was not something that Mycroft (The wanted, perfect child) had ever had to face. He would never understand the awkwardness of sitting in silence with the pair of them simply staring at him, wringing their hands with looks of pity on their faces. To him, it was sadly commonplace.

  
The elderly couple were seated in the main parlor with Molly and Evelyn when he entered, ears pressed flat against his drooping head. He was beyond exhausted and certainly not in the mood to socialize. Sherlock had settled himself onto the floor at John’s feet, allowing Nathaniel and Lucy to pet him and play with him, his tongue lolling out blissfully. Molly held Benedict, a soft maternal smile on her face while Thomas was clutched protectively in Evy’s capable arms, his slumbering human face soft and smiling.

  
“Hello Sherrinford,” his mother said, a melancholic smile playing at her lips and through her eyes; her disappointment at his appearance ( _Compounded by Sherlock’s furry state_ ) was evident. “It’s...good to see you, Darling.”

He sighed.  _It's going to be a long evening._


	27. Chapter 26: The Consulting Detective

The New Moon was surprisingly difficult to bear. He was, admittedly, more jittery and on edge than usual for obvious reasons. _If the Lupus sapiens killer is going to murder another, it’ll happen tonight. Under the police’s noses. Under my nose. There is nothing I can to about it. Nothing._

  
He gritted his teeth, not even attempting to suppress a growl. His feet had surely worn a track in the carpet by now with all of his pacing. His usual New Moon pursuits (experiments) were so unimportant at the moment that he felt that all he could do was pace.

  
“Sherlock.” John’s voice cut through the fog of thoughts swirling about his clouded mind. Though, without another murder, I can’t solve this case. _Not enough evidence. The killer (Hunter) hasn’t made a mistake yet. And we only have the one murder…_ He growled again. It sounded weak in his human voice and it made him grind his teeth in frustration.

  
“Sherlock,” John repeated a bit more harshly than was necessary, “Stop. It.”

  
“Why, John?” he shot back, his teeth flashing, eyes blazing as he launched himself onto the sofa. “Why?!”

  
The other man glowered back at him before tipping his head slightly to the right. “Obsessing over something that hasn’t happened yet, or that may not happen at all, is not good for anyone,” the man murmured, his eyes hard but concerned. “Even you, Sherlock.”

  
“It _will_ happen again, John,” he shot back, still irritated and more than a little worried. He was the Alpha of a Pack; it was his responsibility to protect them. “It was too well-planned and executed to be an isolated incident.”

  
“Well,” the doctor sighed, taking a few steps forward, a soft smile on his lips, “We know that Sherrinford is babysitting and we will be staying in. None of us are in imminent danger-” The man broke off as he got a brilliant idea. Unfortunately, after living together for so long, John could read his facial expressions like a book. “No. NO! Sherlock! We have Evy to think about now. We are _not_ , emphasis on the word _not_ -” He attempted to interrupt with little success. “ _NOT_ going out tonight!”

  
“Don’t be ridiculous!” he fired back, “I love Evelyn as much as you do! She’s our Pup! I’d never think of leaving her without her father!”

  
“Oh, but you - _you’re_ fine with her living without _you_!”

  
“I never said that, John,” he muttered, hurt that the other man had guessed his plan of action. There were moments, like this one, where the other man continued to surprise him - one of the many reasons why he loved him.

  
“No, but you were _thinking_ it, Sherlock.” John sighed, shifting a bit from foot to foot to shake off the built-up tension. “Look, I know that this is hard for you...this...waiting around for things to happen, but, please, this time, sit it out. For Evy. For me.”

  
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he muttered, trying to keep his eyes from flickering to his wall. The wall that provided nothing. No insight whatsoever. He wished that he could grab John’s Sig and shoot it again. At least then it would prove useful for something. His Mate, however, knew him too well and had decided to carry it on his person so he couldn’t pick the lock on his safe and shoot the bloody wall. _Breathe_ , he reminded himself, inhaling sharply and jaggedly, _Just breathe_.

  
“Besides,” the doctor continued, taking a seat in his comfy arm chair, “You’re Registered but not on the public Registry, knowing Mycroft. Neither is Sherrinford, and Thomas won’t be either. Thanks to Mycroft I’m sure.”

  
He blinked, failing to see how it was important or relevant. He wore his tags. They hung heavily about his neck, warmed by his above average body heat and filled with secrets and responsibility. “And you’re saying that the killer wouldn’t target us - any of us - because our status is not public knowledge. Wait!” His eyes widened, realization sinking in. “The Registry is _public knowledge_!”

  
John blinked at him. “Yes, of course. It went public when the addendum to Mycroft’s Act was passed about six years ago.”

  
He raised an eyebrow, glad that John kept up on his Lupus sapiens politics. He was one, but he simply went about his life at this point. He realized that, due to his sociopathy and genius level intellect, he had never quite fit into social norms even when he had be completely human. His oddities, whether they existed before he was Bitten or not, were simply passed off as part of his ‘social disorder.’ His Mind Palace had no use for unneeded government restrictions on his ‘kind.’ Mycroft would get him out of anything anyway - he always did. Just keep himself from getting caught to keep his family out of it, save his own reputation, that was the only thing that he needed care about regarding being a Wolf. John could (and did) keep track of the rest.

  
He sighed. “That wasn’t in Mycroft’s original document...”

  
John simply shook his head. “Sherlock, your brother is a very powerful man but even he cannot keep Parliament from making something public record. It’s the employers, you see. They want to know if they’re hiring...people like…you.”

  
“Hmmm,” he hummed, “Prejudice at it’s finest.” He spun himself away from the man and flopped down on the couch, his hands rising to rest beneath his chin. “I hate the New Moon.”

  
John chuckled humorlessly. “You hate that it keeps you from escaping the business of your Mind Palace.”

  
“Something is bothering you.” It was a statement and not a question.

  
The ex-army doctor shifted in his chair, leaning forward. “I’m fine, Sherlock.”

  
“You’re not,” he reiterated.

  
John shook his head with an exhale. “No, I’m just...it’s...I’m worried-”

  
“Obviously.” He turned on the sofa, pulling at his dressing gown. “You think that this case is going to drag everything into the light. My family and it’s history, our...relationship, my status. You are worried about Evelyn, and rightly so. If she was left alone for some unforeseeable reason, she is only a child and leaving her with your alcoholic sister would be appalling. She could go to Mycroft and Molly, seeing as Sherrinford would be in the same boat as me, but, more likely than not, she’d wind up with my parents and neither of us want that.”

  
Even after all these years, it still made him smile to find John in awe of his ability to read the situation through the obvious details. Or at least what was obvious to him. He smirked at the other man. “I won’t go out tonight, John, but everything will come to light eventually. I will be compromised sometime, somewhere. Sherrinford will fall, too. But no one will come for you or for Evelyn. You will both be safe.” He sat bolt upright, fixing his Mate in his heterochromic gaze. “I swear to you, John.”

  
The returned smile carried a soft, sad quality. “Thanks, Sherlock.”

  
“Anything for you, John,” he smiled softly, “You’re my Mate, after all.”

  
The greying eyebrows raised and the smile quirked humorously. “Anything, Sherlock?”

  
“Hmm, yeah,” he replied, matter-of-factly.

  
John blinked, the smirk deepening. “Did you buy the milk, then?”

  
The thought hit him like a ton of bricks, making him freeze. _He asked me to buy milk? When? He knows that I never buy milk. He must have asked me to buy milk. Was it today? Yesterday? Last week?_

  
The laughter shook him from his thoughts. “What?” he asked, a bit bewildered and very frustrated, a sensation that he really didn’t enjoy.

  
John shook his head, gripping his side as he continued to chortle. “I never asked you to buy milk! Let’s face it, Sherlock, you never go to the store!”

  
“I have gone to the market - and the butcher! - when I was living here alone.” He hated being seen as an incompetent adult when, in fact, he simply didn’t want to waste his time with the mundane. And, in all honesty, if his favorite butchery delivered, he’d never set foot outside the flat except for level 10 cases, ‘mandated’ trips to Baskerville, and the occasional jaunt through the park.

  
“For about a week.” John cocked an eyebrow, still chuckling. “So you went _once_."

  
“Yes,” he retorted sharply, raising his chin.

  
The action set the doctor off laughing again, making him feel instantly ridiculous. “I-” he blinked rapidly, trying to clear his thoughts, “I still go to the butchers.”

  
“Only because you _have_ to.” John gave him a tender look. “Look, Sherlock, I don’t want to argue. I just want to take your mind off of this case. It’s driving you batty. You’ve been at it for a month and it’s gone nowhere and I know what your like on unsolved cases.”

  
“What do you mean ‘ _What I’m like_ ’?” he muttered, knowing exactly what he was like. _A dog with a bone_. John did too and so the other man didn’t grace him with a reply. He rose rapidly, needing to do something to keep his mind from nothing. He snatched his laptop from his desk and threw himself unceremoniously onto the leather cushion of his arm chair. He searched his website, which had so little activity on it he wondered why he continued to update it. After all, as John had repeatedly reminded him, no one wanted to read about how to tell whether the fur on someone’s sofa was because of a dog, cat, hamster, or Lupus sapiens. _On second thought, someone **would** want that information. Seeing as we’re generally not wanted_.

  
He checked the email and, finding nothing ( _unsurprising_ ), scanned the chat pages. The last hit was well over three months ago - well before the Lupus sapiens murder. “Nothing!”

  
“I’m sorry, what?” John queried, looking up from his reading, the newspaper crinkling as their eyes met.

  
“I need a case, John. Something to take my mind off of this...this NOTHING!” Slamming the laptop shut, he rose and strode to the kitchen before beginning to pace.

  
“Hmmm.” John cocked one of his eyebrows before reaching across the divide to borrow his laptop. “Let’s check the old blog, shall we?”

  
He allowed the man to scroll and scan through his own webpage, his feet continuing to trace the well-worn carpet beneath his feet. They’d stopped having people come unannounced to the flat just in case he was Shifted at the time. Even if his secret would eventually come to light, he didn’t need it happening in his own home.

  
“We’ve got a missing persons case. Apparently a corpse was changed out before a funeral, the family wants to know where their grandfather’s body disappeared to.”

  
“Boring,” he stated, “It’s the mob, as dull and as boring as that could be. They use corpses to smuggle drugs. The case has been going on for years, discreetly of course. Grandpa is probably halfway to Ireland by now.” He exhaled. “Next?”

  
“Oh, Lord.” John’s shocked yet frustrated groan.

  
He stopped, standing beside his Mate, brow tilted inquisitively. “I like the sound of that - What is it?”

  
The doctor had paled. “You don’t want this one, Sherlock. Trust me.”

  
“John.” He thrust his hand out, needing to read the case. The other man withdrew further, pulling the laptop to his chest. He glared, his upper lip twitching to reveal his blunt teeth. The soldier glared defiantly back, long used to his wolf-like tendencies.

  
Eventually, their stare off ended with John sighing, pulling the laptop away from his chest to read the entry. “It reads, ‘ _Dear Mr. Holmes, My son has been acting strangely for years, ever since the outbreak of those werewolves. I think he might be one. Please help me. Signed, Mrs. Alice Hampsted_ ’. Jesus, Sherlock! Why doesn’t she just bloody ask her son?!”

  
“Because she’s racist - speciesist, whatever they’re calling it these days. Hampsted’s one of St. Pierre’s, I believe, though he’s one of Sherrinford’s patients now.” His brow furrowed, frowning. “She’s being lazy. You just said it yourself: It’s public knowledge. I don’t see why that has anything to do with your being defensive and upset.”

  
John, hands shaking slightly, handed the computer to him. “Every other request has something to do with ...with Lupus sapiens.”  
_ _ _ _ _

  
When morning dawned, bright and crisp, he was glad that he hadn’t found another case the previous day. Before eight in the morning, nearly before his first cup of coffee (Black, two sugars), the police car arrived. When Lestrade’s footsteps had reached the landing, he was already out his door. Barely stopping on the stairs, he asked, “Where?”

  
“In Essex, Braintree,” the DI breathed heavily, his old age and lack of strict dietary regimen causing him to gain a bit more weight than the detective’d ever admit.

  
“Who?”

“Hampsted.”

  
He closed his eyes, thinking about the email from the racist mother. _Is that enough motive? And to kill her own child. He suppressed a shudder, the thought hitting too close to home for comfort. How does it connect to Stevenson?_ “Take me to him and call Mycroft.”


	28. Chapter 27: The Detective Inspector

He knew that they needed a third body to call it a serial killer. It was something that they drilled into you at the Academy. However, he knew deep down that there was a serial killer loose among the populace. One that had a very specific type victim. One that could effect his friends and their odd family.

  
He had tried to engage Sherlock in conversation earlier on their way to the crime scene but it was impossible. The other man was already deep in thought, his eyes closed, moving rapidly beneath their lids, his hands folded, as if in prayer, beneath his chin. It was fascinating to watch him work, not that he’d ever tell Sherlock that, the big-headed git.

  
Pulling up to the curb, he couldn’t help but note that the one major difference between Hampsted and Stevenson was the location. Stevenson had been in a house - his from the looks of it and the documentation on record. With Hampsted, either the killer didn’t know him as well or he was getting ballsy. The body was found by a young couple who had stumbled out of the next door pub at three in the morning for a snog and had, instead, tripped over a corpse. A bullet through the head and another through the heart, as if for good measure. Just like last time. He had been killed in a dark alley, yes, but beside a busy pub on a Thursday night when they held trivia games.

  
The dark-haired man’s nostrils flared, his mouth set in a grim line. “Wolfsbane and rubbish,” he noted into the air, not bothering to look at him. “Though I’m sure Eddington’s been by and told you as much.” He bent, pulling latex gloves over his violinist’s fingers. “Since we already know that he is Ernest Hampsted - Lupus sapiens, turned eight years ago, spends his Moons at Baskerville and has quasi-psychiatric appointments with my younger brother following each Full Moon, family doesn’t know and is species-ist/racist whatever we’re calling the people who view the Wolves as less than human - I’ll just examine the corpse for something beyond the obvious, shall I?”

  
The taller, younger man squatted beside the dead man, his hands running along the body in a skilled, measured, and perfected method. “Rigor mortis has set in. He’s been dead-” He paused, inhaling in a sharp sniff, nostrils flaring. “Eight to Ten hours. Wolfsbane, buried among the rubbish, lured him into the alley from the pub where he was attending trivia with his mates. Had gone out for a cigarette - only smokes on New Moons because it’s the one days when things feel ‘normal’, but frequently smoked before that. Noise probably accompanied the wolfsbane - explosion? Some powder residue....”

  
Sherlock rose and strode to an abandoned fire barrel, the scent of slightly singed Wolfsbane growing sharper with each stride. He ran a finger around the barrel rim before tilting the barrel and grasping a bit of the crispy black leaf at the bottom. “His attention was lured over here by a well-timed, small explosion and the burning scent of Wolfsbane, not that he would have known what it was - most likely, just that it smelled repulsive.”

  
The detective held the remains to his nose before coughing, gagging at the stench as he tossed the charred plant into an evidence bag. The bag was then shoved rather unceremoniously at him without so much as a glance. “The killer must have been standing, behind the barrel-” He wandered around the back, aiming his fingers at the entrance to the alley. “See. The angle of the body suggests that the shot came from here, where the skip from the restaurant would provide additional cover from the street. The flame and smoke would have hidden him from Hampsted - slight night blindness and diminished senses - and, while he was distracted, either by his cigarette, the butt of which can be found to the right of the skip along the pub wall by the entrance to this delightful place to die, or by the horrid smell and loud bang that accompanied it, the hunter shot him once, though the chest, and, while making his escape, through his skull - just to be sure. Quick, relatively painless, and overly simple. The same MO as our last murderer.”

  
The detective shook his head sadly, his lips cast downward in a small frown. “And yet, besides his obvious knowledge of the Lunar Cycle, the public record of the Werewolf Registry, and some serious stalking, we still have nothing to go on regarding the killer. Hampsted and Stevenson didn’t even run in the same Pack.” The frustration that the detective was feeling quickly replaced the small bit of sadness that had slipped through moments before. Then a thought struck him. The detective moved closer, muttering in his ear, “There is a connection. They both spent their Moons at Baskerville. Their Sherrinford’s. Possible target? To what aim? Discrediting him? His status is unknown.” Letting those thoughts pass, Sherlock swiveled, his mercurial eyes scanning the ground. “Has forensics found anything regarding the bullets? Anything special about them?”

  
Lestrade couldn’t suppress his chuckle, even as he bit his lower lip to keep it in. “They’re not silver or wood, if that’s what you mean.” He shook his head, ignoring Sherlock’s incredulous glare and barely masked snarl. _The Wolf is becoming more prominent in his personality, isn’t it?_ he mentally noted. “.45 caliber bullets from a Sig. Military issue and, unfortunately, not as hard to come by as they should be.”

  
He watched the dark head nod once before the man squatted again, his nose mere inches from the ground. “What is it, Sherlock?”

  
“I need Jack. Preferably now,” the man commanded, his mobile already out of his pocket, fingers flying over the keys.

  
“Jack?” He was a bit lost. “Do you mean John? I think he’s at clinic today.”

  
Sherlock shook his head, his eyes still roving about the ground. “No, I mean Jack. He should be on his way.”

  
Icy eyes flickered to him, an eyebrow raising. The realization sank in. “You mean Sherrinford...” He felt the eyes of several other officers on him, making him amend his statement, “...’s dog?”

  
A sharp nod followed. “How many of your men have been stomping about the crime scene, obliterating evidence?”

  
“Oy!” he shot back, “They’re trained professionals!”

  
“They’re barely trained and certainly not what I would call professional,” the consulting detective muttered. “Any hint of a footprint or tread mark left by the killer has been obscured by your people. We’ve got to hope that Jack can pick something up. If not, we’ll have to wait another twenty-seven days.”

  
“You think the killer will take that long?”

  
“I know the killer won’t attack one of them when there’s the off-chance that he might Shift, however unlikely. The killer is a coward.”

  
The answer was frank and very true. The idea of an incredibly specialized serial killer was not one that he particularly wanted to entertain, but it was becoming more evident that that was what he and his team was dealing with. “So now we wait for Jack and hope for a mistake,” he mumbled, taking a much needed swig of his black coffee, watching Sherlock continue to dance about the alley, hoping beyond hope that he might find something, anything that they could use.  
_ _ _ _ _

  
Sherrinford showed up about twenty minutes later, tugging Mycroft rather unceremoniously behind him. The man looked tired and a bit overdrawn as he bent and released the younger man from the lead, giving him free rein to explore as he pleased.

  
“Are the littlest ones keeping you up?” he asked, moving to stand beside the British Government.

  
“Yes.” It was barely more than a grumbled breath. “Thomas is being particularly difficult. He bit Molly right before we left. Sherrinford said that it’s common - a way to ask for food besides crying. He’ll need to break that habit, though, before he loses any baby teeth.”

  
“I hate to state the obvious, but why?”

  
The ginger-haired man rolled is eyes dramatically. When he answered, his voice was very low, meant only for him to hear. “Wolves age at a human rate, thus why Sherrinford is so spry. His current lupine form is only about three or four.”

  
“So Lupus sapiens toxin is only produced when they have teeth that are strong enough to break skin.” He frowned in surprised. “Clever.” Turning to face Mycroft directly, he queried, “Then why do you need Sherrinford?”

  
The statesman didn’t look at him, his eyes following the furred form of his youngest brother as he trotted about the crime scene.  “Precaution. And, apparently, it’s a calming mechanism. When they’re this little, feeling protected by a Pack member is key to getting the baby back to it’s human state and logic.”

  
“He’s Shifted?” Lestrade asked, feeling a bit more frightened than he would have liked.

  
He breathed a short sigh of relief when Mycroft’s slightly less than perfectly put together head shook. “Not yet. Sherrinford says that he’ll hopefully only Shift around the Moon, like a new Wolf. Three nights and two days. He’ll be entirely in Sherrinford’s keeping then. Too dangerous, though I’m sure Molly won’t agree with that.”

  
“And the other one?” he asked, “It’s just the one, right?”

  
The statesman nodded, rubbing his face as he sighed heavily again. They both looked back the crime scene, watching the younger Holmes boys traipse through it. Sherrinford’s tail was wagging as Sherlock’s coat fluttered about him like giant wings. It was all rather ridiculous looking, making him glad that the Chief Inspector wasn’t here to see the comedic scene that was playing out before him. If he had been, he’d be finished.

  
The Wolf, tail stopping to stand nearly erect, trotted away from the scene, his nose pressed to the pavement. The detective followed, his own nostrils flared wide.

  
“Sherlock,” the eldest Holmes’ hissed, shaking the middle brother from his canine behavior. The other man shook his head and moved to stand beside them, crossing his arms over his chest.

  
“Thank you, Brother Mine,” he muttered, “It’s getting harder to hide. I’m not sure how Sherrinford does it.”

  
“Barely,” Mycroft sighed, “He’s only _human_ when he’s dealing with other Wolves or with family or Pack. He’s an oversized lapdog any other time.”

  
Thinking back, he realized that it was true. He had rarely seen Sherrinford the man.

  
Sherrinford the wolf had stopped about twenty feet down the sidewalk where he paced back and forth along the curb for a few moments before trotting back to the van and barking sharply. Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Let him in.”

  
Sherlock smirked, eyes shining brightly like a child on Christmas morning. “He’s found something.” The man bent and ruffled the younger man’s ears and ruff. “You’ve found something! Ah, it’s Christmas!”

  
Without waiting for him to open the door, the detective threw the van door open and allowed his younger sibling to hop in. He followed, any thought of privacy gone in his excitement to get at the bit of information that his younger sibling was able to garner from the crime scene before them.

  
About ten seconds later, Sherlock popped his dark head from the back of the van. “Hurry up! You’ll want to hear this!”

  
Sighing and sharing a rather trying glance with the British Government, he clambered into the van. To his surprise, he found, sitting on one of the various hard, plastic tool boxes and looking like a cat that had gotten into the cream, a very naked and unashamed Sherrinford Holmes.

  
“Dear Lord,” Mycroft hissed, tossing a handkerchief at the younger man who caught it with a laugh, “Have you no sense of propriety?”

  
“I’m terribly sorry,” the young man shot back, sharp as a tack, “It’s difficult to miraculously find clothing.” Pointedly, he laid the tea towel over his rather impressive package without taking his striking blue eyes off of those of his eldest sibling. “Sherlock didn’t have a problem.”

  
Myrcoft did not suppress his groan. Sherlock ignored it all, basically hopping with tense energy. “What did you find?”

  
His lips still twisted into a soft but sad smile. “The killer lay in wait behind the rubbish barrel with another wolfsbane bomb and a handgun. The victim was known to be there, I can only assume that he was tracked over the last month, and he stumbled into the trap while smoking. The killer, hidden by the light of the fire in the barrel with the wolfsbane, shot the man first in the chest then, after moving from behind the barrel to stand over him, he shot him again in the head. Once his task was complete, he traveled to the right, down the pathway and got into a car about twenty feet away. It was a small diesel and there were the remains of a partially smoked cigarette right against the curb. It hasn’t rained. Do cabs run on diesel or are we looking for a private car? Also, the killer you’re looking for has a bit of residual wolfsbane lingering about his scent, along with cheap cigarettes, leather - probably a pair of shoes or a jacket, spearmint breath mints or gum, and a hint of mistletoe. Similar to wolfsbane but less...mmm, poisonous? If that makes sense?”

  
He looked up, his lips pressed together in anticipation.

  
_There’s not much I can use_ , he realized, _Not much at all_. “I’ll get the scent description out to the K13s but I’m not sure if we can do anything about it. The input is great, Sherrinford, but I don’t know what else to use-”

  
“Don’t speak, Lestrade,” Sherlock snapped, “You know nothing. This is brilliant news!”

  
“What do you mean?” he asked, completely lost.

  
“We know that the murderer is male, of a slightly below average height who has a more than basic knowledge of the lunar calendar and it’s implications on the Lupus sapiens. He drives a diesel car or knows someone who does, and he has access to wolfsbane, which is hard to come by, as well as mistletoe, again, not easy to come by outside of holiday time. He has a smoking habit but is not wealthy, hence the cheap, pre-rolled cigarettes. He also wears a leather jacket and/or boots because he can’t afford good, leather shoes. That is something to start with and something to be aware of. To take it a step further: That cigarette by the curb could be our murderer’s.”

  
It surprised him that it was Mycroft that had spoken, his eyes locked on those of his youngest brother. “We should run more thorough tests on the transformation center employees. They have access to all the information and a stronger desire to read it than most of the population, Sherrinford. Some know too much. Including who their charges are.”

  
The other man nodded, shifting a bit on the box, a hand over the towel, the tags on his collar, still latched about his neck, tinkling lightly. “So...I’d like to leave this rather confined space, if you don’t mind...” The young man looked at him pointedly, dropping the towel.

  
“Alright,” Lestrade said, raising his hands and getting out of the van as quickly as he could. “I’m going to get the cigarette. Fingers crossed that we get a match, boys.”

  
He knew about the Shift but he was pretty sure that he never wanted to witness one for himself. Besides, having seen the young Holmes’ package once already, he did not need to feel inadequate again. _Is that due to the Wolf? Or is it Holmes genetics...Stop it! Stop. Just stop!_ He shook his head and headed to the nearest cruiser, hoping that Eddington hadn’t left yet. They had a lot to discuss.


	29. Chapter 28: The British Government

He wasn’t at all surprised to get called into the New Scotland Yard the following day. He hadn’t wanted to leave Molly, who was exhausted and frazzled, but with a bit of pushing from his wife and his younger brother, he had found himself in a car on his way to the station. He knew that he was the one going because he was the only one that ‘knew about the Wolves.’ It was his Law after all.

  
He sighed, trying to banish the guilt that he felt over the pet project that had become a restricting, gagging Law. He had felt bad about it when Sherlock was made subject to them, worse when Sherrinford, who had been rather unrestricted in his upbringing, had to restrain himself in ways that he had obviously been raised not to, and now, Thomas was at risk of being raised as a second class citizen. Something needed to be done, and quickly. The reason Lestrade wanted to meet had to do with what his brothers had uncovered yesterday, of that he was certain. What he expected him to do about it, he had no idea. There were bigger fish to fry at the moment. Mainly, finding a way to amend his unjust Law.

  
“We’re here, Sir,” the driver intone through the open dividing window.

  
“Ah, yes, thank you, Gerald,” he stated, returning to the present, and sliding from the car. “I don’t think I’ll be too long. Stay close.”

  
He saw the man nod in his peripheral vision as he shut the door and entered the New Scotland Yard. He kept his strides purposeful, flashing his identification at the desk sergeant, and marching his way into Lestrade’s office. He shut the door behind him with a soft click and turned, umbrella hanging from his arm.

  
“Ah, Mycroft,” the DI said from behind his desk, “Come in. Have a seat.”

  
He noted that the other chair opposite the silver-haired man was occupied by a young man. A man whose nostrils were flared wide. _A Lupus sapiens. One of the K13s_. “I wasn’t expecting to see you, Eddington,” he stated, taking the seat beside the werewolf and sitting upright with his chin raised, trying to carry some guise of power within the room.

  
“I actually asked the Detective Inspector to call you in. I-” The man bowed his head, tilting it slightly to the left, away from him. “I know that that bloody great dog yesterday wasn’t a dog.”

  
“Oh?” he said pointedly, shooting a glance at Lestrade, who gave his head a minuscule shake. “And what do you think it was?”

  
“I know what _Wolves_ smell like, Sir,” the officer continued, “And that dog reeks of Wolf. Besides, it’s too massive to be a regular dog.”

  
“And?” he asked as he cocked an eyebrow, hoping that Eddington didn’t figure out _who_ that Lupus sapiens might be. He raised his chin a bit higher, begging the man to challenge him.

  
“I don’t care _wh_ o it is, Mr. Holmes,” the man replied, obviously seeing his challenge and backing away from it. “I simply wonder why he is allowed to Shift outside of a facility and how the Yard is letting one of us do that. I mean, I’m not allowed to smell something the wrong way or else I’ll get put on a tighter leash and he was trotting around like he owned the place! Now, the Detective Inspector has us searching for some very specific scents. He obviously helped, but...why doesn’t the Law apply to him?”

  
Thinking fast on his feet, he opted to tell a part-truth,saying, “The dog you smelled yesterday is a Lupus sapiens, a government employee, in fact. He spends most of his time at Baskerville where, I am sure you are aware-”

  
The younger man sighed, shaking his head, “Where Dr. Holmes is the head researcher and veterinarian for them...for us...”

  
“He’s been sent through rigorous tests before performing any tasks,” he stated with a smile. “My younger siblings have been trying to find a way to solve your case and so, he is in town with Sherrinford as his…handler for the time being.”

  
The Lupus sapiens nodded, looking at his lap. “I understand but why bring in a ‘specialist’? -I just want to help, sir. I _need_ to be able to take my Shifted form without fear of being discharged or worse, locked away for ‘giving in’ to the animal.” His eyes shot up to look at him in the face for the first time. “Please Mr. Holmes,” he murmured, begging, “Change the Law. Let us do our jobs to the best of our abilities.”

  
He cocked an eyebrow, his lips quirking. “You think that the other K13s would be willing to Shift for the Yard?”

  
The man nodded. “We’ve discussed it. If there’s a serial killer who’s going after us, we want to take him on head-on, even if that means Shifting without the Moon and at work. We’re willing to do what it takes, even if we Shift with restrictions: collars, leashes, vests...muzzles.”

  
The DI, who had been rather quiet through their exchange, leaned forward in his seat, his hands coming to rest on her desk, an eager look on his face. “We’ll have you tested for mental retention in your Wolf forms, but, I don’t see a problem with it,” Lestrade stated, his eyes fixed on him. “Perhaps the same test that the ‘specialist’ went through? I can present this request to the Chief Inspector and the board, but I think that, due to the success of the current program, I don’t see why they wouldn’t approve of it. And I should hope that _men_ shouldn’t have to be muzzled to perform their job.”

  
Fighting against the urge to roll his eyes at the banality of the Yard’s bureaucracy, the statesman cut in, “I’ll see what I can do. Parliament meets within the week. Do you think you can get the testing done within that time?”

  
“I don’t see why not,” the detective stated, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. “Is Sherrinford available?”

  
“Sherrinford can certainly make time and should be present. As the leading expert in Lupus sapiens, he should run the testing of the retention of humanity. Now,” he rose swiftly, grasping his umbrella in his left hand, “If you’ll excuse me, I have work to do. Let me know when the results come in on the cigarette butt.”

  
Slipping into the back seat of his town car, he sighed. His own stupidity had brought this on, but so had Sherrinford’s rashness as well as St. Pierre’s serial Turning streak. No one had been Turned since the deceased Wolf had been ‘put-down,’ to use the term that the Houses of Parliament had been using when discussing what to do with the ‘Werewolf Problem.’ Either way, his task, laid before him partially of his own volition and partially as a request from New Scotland Yard, would not be an easy one. _And how this can be accomplished without revealing the great Holmes family secret._

  
The return of his car to Downing Street did little to settle his worries or his rushing thoughts. He slipped from the back seat, giving his driver a small nod of gratitude and quickly entered his home. The children, minus the babies, were at school. Molly and Sherrinford were no doubt busy with the new twins, running a tag-team operation that allowed one of them to rest and get away during the day.

  
“Sherrinford?” he murmured, knowing that, if the younger man was awake, he would hear; his hearing was impeccably sharp. “My office, as soon as you are able.”

  
Not waiting for a reply, umbrella still hanging from his arm, he tread through his home and to the fake wall. Sherrinford, being a Holmes (and a Wolf), would no doubt know of his office’s existence but he’d need to leave the door open for the younger man. He did not want his sanctuary bothered, even if it was by well-meaning younger brothers.

  
As he took his seat and booted up his computer, he was unsurprised to hear the tread of large feet drawing near. Not bothering to look up, Mycroft muttered, “No use standing at the door. Come in. Close it behind you.”

  
He hear a resounding click. “I hate to tell you that it is almost predictable that you have a hidden office, Mycroft. I was disappointed to find it on my first tenure in your home. But I am even more disappointed, however, that it doesn’t appear behind a revolving bookcase.”

  
“Have a seat,” the statesman said with a small roll of his eyes, “I’m glad that you’re in a chatty mood today.”

  
He watched the lean younger man eye him almost warily before he sat, legs spread, across from him. His brother gave a small wriggle, as if getting comfortable, though they both knew that that was not the case. _Scenting_ , he noted, eyebrow cocking. Sherrinford’s upper lip peeled back into a silent sneer. _Warning snarl_. “I’m assuming that something is bothering you,” he stated, knowing as much.

  
“Nothing you can do anything about,” the other man said, his voice surprisingly lacking any aggression even as he continued to sit ramrod straight. _Ah! Uncomfortable in what is obviously my territory._

  
“Well, I’ll be quick then,” he said, leaning back and away from the Wolf in what he deemed to be a non-threatening gesture. Sherrinford did not move an inch, a muscle in his jaw flexing. _Wrong move, apparently_. “I’ve been to the Yard and there are a few things that you should be made aware of. Firstly, nothing on the cigarette yet, but Lestrade is hopeful that the smoker will be in the database. Moving along: Eddington, Lestrade’s K13, is on to you, or at least is aware that your Wolf form is a Lupus Sapiens.”

  
“It will come to light eventually,” the other man said, wriggling in the chair again, his nostrils flaring. _It’s obviously stressful for him too_ , Mycroft noted. “I am prepared for it. I only fear for the rest of my family.”

  
“Let’s not jump to conclusions.” He resisted the urge to shift in his own seat, wanting his youngest and most feral sibling to remain rational. “Also, the Yard is considering allowing Lupus sapiens to Shift for cases. Their mental retention upon Shifting needs to be determined within the week for the program to be initiated.”

  
“Because, if it is not, you think Parliament will not allow it to happen. I understand.” The red-ish blonde head cocked slightly. “And you want me to run it.”

  
“You are the world’s leading expert on Lupus sapiens. You would be the best at devising a method of testing logic retention as well as running the test itself.”

  
Sherrinford sighed. “That is easier said than done, but I should be able to figure something out within the next few days. Let Lestrade know that I will do it but on my terms. I need a clean facility - beyond clean - no chance of someone staking a claim on it. I need a list of all K13s that are participating, as well as access to their Shift and medical records. I will need some small medical waste, which I’m sure Sherlock can provide. And I need tennis balls and steak. Lots of steak.”


	30. Chapter 29: The Expert

He tried to stop his nostrils as they fluttered with little success, his eyes watching his charges as they filed into the gymnasium. It’s a small miracle that Lestrade was able to convince them to use the training facility’s space. He had gotten there early, accompanied by his eldest brother and the Detective Inspector, and cleaned the large room. The last thing any of them needed was to have a bunch of Wolves, Shifted outside the Moon, running about amongst half-deflated basketballs, stinky rugby socks, and piles of mats.

  
The space was entirely emptied except for a large cooler, three chairs, and a table covered in files, and piles of gym equipment along the walls, none of which should prove to be a large distraction to the Wolves. _Well_ , he smirked, _except for the cooler filled with steaks and one piece of human flesh borrowed from Sherlock._

  
There were thirty K13’s in all, though only 26 were coming that evening. They were all veterans, having been Turned by St. Pierre at least five years ago. The four remaining K13s were the unfortunate victims of the man’s escape almost two months previous. Those men, under his charge at the Moon, were not adjusted enough to handle the stimulation that he was going to make the other men undergo. While he had a flutter of hope in his stomach, he was also a realist. Things could go horribly wrong if the Wolves attacked the two men with him. He was stronger and more adept than any of them and would escape relatively unharmed, though unmasked. Mycroft and Lestrade, however, were not as young as they thought they were. They may not have the strength to survive the shock to the system that was the Bite.

  
The policemen were anxious as they shuffled in, hands stuffed in pockets and nostrils flaring. Their Pack lines became evident as heads cocked, noses raised, and teeth were exposed. It was fascinating to watch, even though he had grown up watching interactions such as these on the Continent. He missed it, he realized, the feeling of being surrounded by those that were like you but with their own families and ‘political’ alliances. Being part of Sherlock’s odd Pack was a small bit of what his life could be if he was open about who and what he was. But he was loyal to his family and he could not do such a thing, not unless it came out on its own.

  
He smiled, lips pressed firmly together, and clapped his hands together once, getting the attention of all the Wolves. “Thank you for coming, Gentlemen. This is a valiant first step towards finding equality among the populace for the Lupus sapiens. I congratulate you on taking the initiative to undergo this testing. You will be asked to perform individually, so as to eliminate any unnecessary distractions. You will be asked to perform several tasks while Shifted and then be asked to Shift back. Please remember, Gentlemen, that what is being asked of you is built to test you. It will not be easy, as your jobs are not easy. If you do not pass, I ask that you not give up hope. You may try again in the future - in fact, I encourage you to do so! You, Gentlemen, are the future of your people and your Packs. Even your Precincts and the Yard! You are the people that will change the views of the populace for the better. You are the future of your species and for that, you should be very proud. Thank you, please exit and we will begin shortly.”

  
The men, an air of solemnity hanging over them, exited without a sound. He inhaled deeply, the strong scent of Wolf lingering along with the pungent odor of nervousness as they closed the doors behind them.

  
With a deep sigh, he sat behind the table and reached towards the first file. “Since this is his idea, let’s take Eddington first.” Idly flipping through the file that he knew rather well, he expected Sergeant Isaac Eddington to pass with flying colors. He was not one of his, Shifting at Torchwood with most of the K13s, but he was an early victim of St. Pierre and, if his file was to be believed, he seemed to keep his head about him on the night of the Moon.

  
“Alright, mate,” Lestrade said, rising and heading out to get his own K13, one of his best officers, for the test that could change the course of history. The man’s steps echoed around the room, as did the squeal of the gym door’s hinges. “Eddington, you’re up.”

  
The young man entered, looking a bit sheepish but not at all surprised. He paused at the entrance, shaking Lestrade’s offered hand before rubbing the back of his neck and tilting his head to the left. “Thanks for doing this, Dr. Holmes, Mr. Holmes, Detective Inspector. For giving us a chance,” he murmured.

  
Sherrinford smiled, lips firmly closed. “Thank you for insisting that this would be a good idea, Eddington. You’re right. It is.” He gestured with his hand. “Please, take you time Shifting. I know that it can be distressing to Shift outside the Moon.” _At least, according to a majority of my patients_ , he added mentally.

  
“Thank you, Sir,” the man said, turning his back on the table and stripping down to his pants and tags.

  
Averting his eyes, Sherrinford bit his lip in an effort to maintain his own shape as the sounds of Eddington’s Shift filled the gymnasium. The man’s voice cracked amid his groans, shifting to a soft yowl about ten minutes in. _So he’s Shifted outside the Moon before but not often enough to make this a quick process, like Sherlock_ , he noted, scribbling it on his notepad before raising his eyes to see a panting, dull brown Wolf scrambling to it’s paws, nostrils wide.

  
He shot Lestrade, who looked utterly dumbfounded and obviously overwhelmed by seeing a Shift for the first time, a pointed look. _Keep it together, Man_. The grey-haired man cleared his throat, causing the Wolf’s head to whip around, facing them, hackles raising and teeth exposed. _He’s confused and over stimulated_ , he noted.

  
“Eddington,” the DI intoned in a commanding voice, “Sit.”

  
Ears swiveling forward, eyes fixed on his commanding officer, the back end slowly sat and the teeth were hidden behind lupine lips. Unable to stop a small smirk, the natural born Wolf made another note. “Excellent, Eddington. Now, bark once as yes, remain silent for no as you answer these questions for me.”

  
The information, all read directly from the file in his hands, was quickly confirmed by the Turned man, his hackles slowly lowering and his maw opening in a bored yawn as they continued. Closing the file after his barrage of questions, Sherrinford rose and began walking around the table to the strange Wolf, aware that his scent was pungent with the Lupus sapiens Forest smell. Eddington’s large head cocked, his nostrils flaring. Needing to distract the man, he quickly raised his arm and tossed a tennis ball with a boisterous “Fetch!”

  
The Wolf was off like a shot, all too delighted to be chasing the green bouncing toy. “Bring it back to me,” he commanded once the ball had been caught. Slowly, and a bit grudgingly, the younger man did as he had been told, the slobber coated ball bouncing wetly at his feet. Sherrinford, a small smirk playing at his lips in amusement, repeated the process again with the same result. After a couple more passes he stuffed the ball back into his pocket (the K13 whined his disappointment) and said, “Now, Eddington, I have hidden something in this room. It does not belong - its scent should be different. Find it and alert me.”

  
The brown Wolf chuffed, giving him what he would equate to a sharp, obedient nod, and rose from his seated position. The sound of claws and the light wave of the tail as the younger man darted back and forth across the gymnasium (Chasing trails left by dragging the dismembered piece of flesh about rather haphazardly) made him smile and raise his eyebrows at the two men at the desk.

  
Lestrade grinned back, obviously very proud of his division’s brightest member. Mycroft remained characteristically aloof, his own eyes watching the Wolf as he continued to sniffle about the piles of athletic items and equipment. Less than a minute later, he heard a soft howl from the far corner where he had placed and partially concealed one of Sherlock’s preserved thumbs.

  
Spinning on his heel, he opened the cooler, pulled a strip of steak out (his own mouth beginning to water at the delicious perfume), and made his way to the Wolf. When he was a couple of meters away, he tossed Eddington the steak, which the Turned Wolf snatched out of the air with ease. As the bleeding meat was consumed, the Expert gave him the good news, hand extended. The Wolf snuffled the hand, watching him with his very human eyes, and ducked his head, allowing his ears to be scratched. Eddington’s leg jiggled, tongue lolling out happily. “Excellent job, Eddington. You will be issued a K9 vest and a collar to be worn at crime scenes when necessary. Congratulations.”

  
Uncontrollably happy, the officer tossed his head back in a full howl before running about the gymnasium in sheer joy. Lestrade released a proud whoop himself before kneeling, his knees cracking, and offering Eddington his hand. “Congratulations, Eddington! Good man!”

  
The Wolf trotted to his commanding officer and thrust his head beneath the hand eagerly, enjoying the praise. The detective inspector gave him a good pat before telling the man that he was allowed to Shift and go and that he’d see him in the morning, new kit waiting for him within the next couple of days.

  
Sherrinford had hoped that the rest of the evening would go the same way. And, for the most part, it did. He had three that were simply too stimulated after the Shift to think completely rationally, unable to fulfill all the tasks laid before them. He had had another two that were simply unable to Shift outside the Moon, primarily due to their own insecurities and fears, and partially due to their lack of practice in doing so. And he only had one that ate the toe, making him glad that he had a spare piece of flesh courtesy of Sherlock and slightly concerned for the man’s mental health the following morning when he discovered that he consumed a human appendage.

  
His (thankfully) final testee, however, did what he had been dreading. After the Shift, the Wolf was so agitated that he snapped and lunged, spittle flying, at the men at the table. He had quickly intervened, stepping between the Wolf and his intended victims, wrapping his arms around the Wolf’s thick neck and latching onto the grey, triangular ear with his blunt, human teeth. The Wolf yowled, surprised and unhappy, struggling, kicking at his abdomen with his back legs. Using the advantage of his slightly larger size and his more agile form, he pinned the struggling being beneath him and growled, his teeth revealed in a snarl, inches from the Wolf’s face. The snapping jaws of the other Wolf flashed by his cheek, speckling his face and shoulder with the poisonous drool. Sherrinford tightened his grip, snarling fiercely before flashing his gaze up to the other two dumbstruck men. “Tranq!” he hissed pointedly through bared teeth, throwing his elbow into the Wolf’s windpipe, “NOW!”

  
The scraping of chairs and the scramble through various items reached his ears. _They’re not prepared. I need a new tactic_. Inhaling deeply, he gathered his strength and wrapped a hand around the other Wolf’s muzzle, a dominance play. As the other man struggled, trying to shake him off, he growled, “Shift!”

  
The Wolf responded with his own growl and a fierce shake of his head, still trying to dislodge his hand. He squeezed harder, pressing further against the exposed underbelly and throat. “Shift! I am Alpha! You obey me! Now - _Shift!_ ” He could feel the power in his own words, his long suppressed Alpha nature rushing through him like a shot of adrenaline.

  
The struggle stopped instantaneously, quickly followed by a high-pitched whine and an odd rigor-mortis. The Shift was beginning.

  
“Found it!” called Lestrade, rushing over, needle full of tranquilizer held aloft.

  
Sitting back on his heels but not taking his eyes off the other Wolf, Sherrinford shook his head. “No need. I got him to Shift back. Make a note - I don’t want this one retrying next Moon. He needs more time and a safe place to Shift outside of the Moon. Make peace with the Wolf within.”

  
The frantic scratch of a pen told him that Mycroft, the closest to the files, had listened. He couldn’t help but feel a little smug at knowing that the man who ran England was taking orders from him. _Maybe that Alpha commands work on regular humans, too. Or just family. Pack._

  
“Are you alright, Sherrinford?” Lestrade asked, his eyes wide with residual fright.

  
He nodded, letting his lips twitch into a small smile as the man’s left arm broke. His Alpha command had worked completely. Once the man’s Shift was complete, they’d get him out of there. _Maybe..._ The new thought was a good one and so he called it out to Mycroft. “Also, make a note that he should come to Baskerville the day after the Moon so we can begin sessions. Same with any Lupus sapiens that see time as Wolves in the field. We want this project to succeed, which includes their mental states.”

  
“Of course, Brother,” Mycroft intoned, pen scratching, “Excellent idea. And what about the baby?”

  
“He’ll be furry, yes, but relatively harmless. If that makes you nervous, Sherlock will simply have to do. Unless you want the family secret escaping?” There was no reply. He knew that Mycroft valued the protection of their family more than anything else in the world, including England itself.


	31. Chapter 30: The Daughter of Wolves and her Adopted Father

Her feet led her back to Baker Street along their tried and true route, weaving in and out of various levels of foot traffic and automobile congestion. Going to school, as much as she enjoyed the variety, was becoming harder to do. Her father was dealing with an enormous workload while trying to play it off like nothing was happening, though he was never a talented liar. Sherlock was going crazy over the case because it effected him more than he’d ever tell anyone, his nose pressed to the grindstone. He was after it like a dog after a bone because, despite hiding it deep down, he was scared, making living with him rather impossible. It made her wonder how and why her father had put up with it for years and years.

  
Ms Crowley had stopped her after class, noting her distracted, daydreamy expression, and told her that she was there if she needed anything. It was nice to know that Ms. Crowley was willing to talk to her, but, in all honesty, she couldn’t tell the woman what she really needed to talk about. She was dating her uncle, kind of, but that did not make her an expert. She knew so much more than anyone else in her class thanks to living with a Wolf for her entire life, even if she hadn’t know it at the time. Ms. Crowley didn’t even know about her own boyfriend.

  
Her thoughts had carried her to the steps of 221 Baker Street and she produced a key, fitted it in the lock and entered the building. She inhaled deeply, taking in the faint scent of gunpowder that made her eyebrows raise. _Has Sherlock been shooting inside again?_

  
Putting her curiosity aside briefly, she walked up the stairs, passing 221B and made her way to her own flat to set down her bag. It was empty, as it usually was at this time of day, so she threw her bag on the table and pulled her homework out to begin setting to work once dinner was in the oven. Her father had taken over food duty since Sherlock was ‘on the case’ and ‘didn’t eat’ because it ‘slowed him down.’ The Wolf inside would not let the man go hungry, but he truly only ate when something was set in front of him. That left the cooking to her overworked, overanxious father. The least she could do was put the casserole dish into the oven and keep it from burning.

  
Opening the fridge, she saw a large dish of lasagna and a small note with instructions attached. “Thanks, Dad,” she murmured, turning the oven on to preheat before settling back to begin her school work. She had an hour or so to put in. Hopefully she could finish before her father got home and maybe, just maybe, she could get her ‘new father’ to Shift. She needed some serious cuddles.   
_ _ _ _ _

  
He could hear his quasi-daughter moving about the apartment upstairs. He wouldn’t have paid her any mind except that her steps were heavy, very uncharacteristic of the soon-to-be fourteen year old. She was usually so light in her tread, like she was floating on clouds, that it gave him pause. Enough pause that he was pulled from his Mind Palace.

  
The case was...well...it was. The one lead that they had had come back as untraceable: the cigarette smoker wasn’t in the criminal database at the Yard. The other information from Sherrinford only did so much, no matter what he wanted to let slip to Lestrade. He was Sherlock Holmes, after all. He didn’t have any unsolved cases - he just didn’t. Besides, this case had the widest range of effect since Moriarty.   
The man leered at him in his Mind Palace, taunting him over his inability to beat this petty Lupus sapiens Hunter.

  
**Hunter**.

  
_Are there Hunters for my…kind? There must be. Some secret society bent on the destruction of those that threatened them. That is the way that is has always been since the Dawn of time. It is the reason that extinction (besides the sheer inability to adapt) exists._

  
His fingers began flying over his key computer keys, his mind scrambling to find anything that stood out in its vaults in regards to mass killings that had seemingly shady reasons behind them. After all, the world’s knowledge of ‘werewolves’ was relatively recent. Discounting the old legends…Could there be merit to them? _I need to know more..._

  
Leaping from his leather chair, he stormed to his mobile on the coffee table and quickly typed in: NEED TO TALK. - SH

  
Tossing the device back onto the couch, he traversed the living room back to his chair and threw himself into it. Regathering his laptop, he continued to search, knowing that he probably wouldn’t find anything. It simply wasn’t public knowledge. It certainly wasn’t Scotland Yard knowledge. _Mycroft..._ He stopped that thought before it even formed. His elder sibling knew nothing. If he had, then he would have shared it - there would be no reason to hide the existence of a terrorist group that targeted his own ‘specialty.’

  
A soft ding sounded from the sofa. Throwing himself back out of the chair, he scrambled to pick up his mobile.

  
GIVE ME THIRTY.

  
He smirked, tossing the mobile back on the sofa before heading up the stairs to 221C and the obviously upset teenager. Her books were littered across the table, crumpled papers and her forgotten backpack strewn across the kitchen tile. The faint smell of cheese and beef and tomatoes was wafting out of the oven, dinner beginning to cook. “Evelyn,” he stated, standing in the doorway, head cocked.

  
The little girl gasped, obviously oblivious to his presence until then, and then smiled brightly. “Sherlock!” she replied, pushing her chair back and running to him, wrapping her strong arms around his thin mid-section. He placed a hand on her back, rumbling faintly in his chest. “How’s the case going?”

  
Her huge blue eyes looked up at him as if he held all the answers in the world - which was usually the case, but not completely true in this instance. He sighed. “Sherrinford will be over shortly. I am hoping he brings answers.”

  
The little girl’s smile broadened. “Will he be staying?”

  
“I doubt it. Not with the Pup to attend to and the legislation being brought forward tomorrow.” He watched Evelyn’s brow furrow as she pulled away from him to sit back at the table, pulling her schoolwork towards her. “You’re worried.”

  
It was a statement. Her worry was obvious. She feared that they would lose more, become closer to animals than humans. “There is nothing that you can do, Evelyn. It does not concern you.”

  
Tear-filled eyes greeted his own calculated mask. “It does!” she sniffled, “It effects me a great deal! What if...what if they take you away? What if Daddy loses his job for hiding you? What if Uncle Ford is deported? What if you’re...you’re put to sleep like the pets that no one wants in the shelters?”

  
Unable to stop his instinct to comfort and protect, he crossed the small kitchen and pulled the small body into his arms. “Evelyn. Your Uncle Mycroft is never going to let any of those things happen. Besides, if they did, no one knows about any of us. Mycroft and his position in the Government are to thank for that. If we’re taken away, nothing can hold me. I’ll get us out and back to you. If your father loses his job, I am independently wealthy, everything will be taken care of. Sherrinford is a British citizen - he won’t be deported. Euthanasia is illegal and we look like humans for most of the month. They can’t legally put us to sleep like dogs.” The girl was crying in earnest now, her body wracking with sobs. _Dear God, let Sherrinford get here soon. I can’t deal with this!_ “Evelyn. I appreciate your concern but it is unfounded. Everything will be fine. Nothing is going to change.” _Liar_.


	32. Chapter 31: The Peripheral Holmes Brothers

When he arrived, furry and panting from exertion, he was rather glad to catch John just as he was closing the door. The man cocked an eyebrow, obviously not aware that Sherlock ‘Needed to Talk’. He tipped his head to the right ever so slightly, his newly awakened inner Alpha snarling at the very thought, and pushed past the man. He took the steps in leaps, easily making it to the third floor before the doctor, the scent of Italian food and salt pulling him upward.

  
The sight that greeted him was admittedly very unexpected. Sherlock was kneeling, back to him, with the arms and legs of a young teenager wrapped tightly around him like a barnacle clinging to the bottom of a boat for dear life. Evelyn’s breathing was erratic, making him instantly realize that the salt he was smelling came from her tears. The urge to run to his favorite niece rushed through him but his paws stumbled to a stop at the door jam. He whined and waited at the edge of his brother’s mate’s territory unable to enter another Alpha’s space without permission.

Sherlock’s back stiffened slightly before the man murmured, “Thank God, Sherrinford. Get in here.”

  
He didn’t need to be asked twice, especially not when his favorite niece was in obvious distress. He loped a few strides towards Evelyn and her tear-streaked face, her need palpable. He nuzzled her cheek, encouraging her to release her grip on his elder sibling. Without more than a bleary glance, she released the detective and he took her crumpling bodyweight around his thick neck. His tongue caressed the salty trails from her pink cheeks as he rumbled deep in his chest, trying to comfort the young woman.

  
He had no idea why she was so upset, though, judging from Sherlock’s strong yet stoic presence, it was something big. He eyed his older sibling, cocking an eyebrow muscle. The other man simply mouthed ‘Later,’ shaking his head.

  
John joined them shortly after with a soft exclamation about why it was Sherrinford and not him whom his child had run to. Sherlock must have sent the rather over-worked doctor a sharp look because the man quietly walked around them, rumpling his ears while pressing a tender kiss into his daughter’s hair, and pulled the lasagna out of the oven. “Dinner’s ready,” the man stated, setting the steaming dish on the battered table top, the scent of melted cheese and browned meat wafting through the small flat. “Please clear the table and set it for dinner, Evy.”

  
The fingers extricated themselves from his fur, taking some of his remaining winter fur with them. She smiled at him, her tears dried though her eyes were still puffy. “Thank you, Uncle Ford,” she murmured with a soft smile before looking back up at his older sibling. “Thank you, Sherlock.”

  
He grinned back brightly, tongue lolling out. He gave her one final lick on the cheek before vanishing out the door and down the stairs to Sherlock’s flat. The man had enough robes that he could certainly borrow one for an hour or two.

  
221B smelled distinctly of his brother, his mate and Pup, though more like Sherlock than anything else. He skittered a little bit, uneasy surrounded by another Alpha’s musk but only allowed his hesitation to stop him for a moment. He needed his lips and so encroaching on his Alpha’s territory was a necessary evil. Calling his Shift, he quickly found himself squatting on the thin carpet in the living room of 221B. Shivering a bit in the cool air blowing from the cracked door, he padded through the flat to Sherlock’s bedroom and snatched the closest robe, a navy silk creation, and threw it about his lithe form before exiting the flat as quickly as possible. Sherlock would not be pleased that he was there, and wearing his clothes besides. _But some things cannot be helped_.

  
His Alpha’s displeasure was evident some time later when he followed him back to the lower flat. Evelyn was much calmer, now that she came to the realization that no one could effect the outcome of the Parliamentary decision: Not even Mycroft. The teen was, sadly, beginning to learn that the world was not a fair place and that there were people that lost and people that won. At this point in time, it was the Lupus sapiens that were being most noticeably ostracized.

  
“You couldn’t bring your own clothes?!” Sherlock was hissing rather obnoxiously, the door to 221B closing firmly behind him but not loud enough to arouse the fitfully slumbering Pup upstairs. The older man sniffed audibly before growling, white teeth flashing.

  
“Look, Sherlock,” he shot back defensively, his own teeth unsheathing, “You utter arse! You don’t think anyone would be suspicious of a bloody great dog running through London with a pair of trousers and a t-shirt in its mouth? Think again! People are on edge - Evy is evidence enough! Plus the murders! We’re not welcome here! So _no! I couldn’t bring my own clothes!_ ”

  
The other man looked a bit taken aback but did not respond. He watch the dark head turn to face the windows, fingers laced behind the broad back in a show of pomp and circumstance. He rolled his eyes, tired of the power play and exhausted in general. With Mycroft returning to work, his testing the K13s, and the new Pups, he was a bit overextended and beyond exhausted. He had no patience to deal with his sociopathic elder sibling. “Why am I bloody here, Sherlock?”

  
“Someone hasn’t been getting enough sleep,” his brother muttered. He released a growl, rumbling deep in his chest and tearing out through his vocal chords. He was tired and impatient and in no need for Sherlock’s deductive theatrics.

  
The other man’s head cocked, listening before releasing a faint sigh. One of the other man’s thumbs twitched, giving away his turn towards him an instant before it happened. “Tell me about the Hunters.”

  
Sherrinford took a step back, surprised, dread settling into the pit of his stomach. “You think they’ve found a foothold in England?” he breathed, voice shaking with fear.

  
An elegant eyebrow raised. “I think they never left.”

  
He stiffened. He remembered the Hunters in Germany. One of the reasons he was sent to boarding school was to protect him from them and their twisted, deadly games. His great-uncle, his father really, was a hard man and an even tougher Wolf who had made more enemies than friends. Because of that, he had attracted the attention of Hunters and kept moving, particularly after an incident when he was five. It was the first time he had seen a man die.

  
“They are an ancient organization that spans the world and claims to rid it of unnatural beasts, beings guided by pagan beliefs and devil worshippers. They specialize in Wolves but have been known to support a witch hunt or two as well as several vampire killings.”

  
“Witches and vampires aren’t real,” his sibling shot back definitively.

  
“That’s because they were caught,” he murmured, meeting the swirling eyes of his sibling. “We are more adaptable. We can live in the woods, avoid human contact - go feral, as it were. You’ve done it - I’ve done it. A day as a human in the middle of nowhere is not fun but it is not as difficult as one might imagine. That’s how we escaped, that and sound, human logic. There is a reason why the strain from Mum’s family survived while all the other British bloodlines died out: We’re highly intelligent stock.” He sighed, rubbing his face tiredly. “I guess it was too much to hope that all the media attention would keep them away.” His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “You think they’re behind the New Moon murders.”

  
The consulting detective did not grace the statement with a response. “Anything else you can tell me about them? Family names, perhaps?”  
He shook his head slowly, trying to remember anything. He had been so young... “Argent, Empoisonner, Verseuchen, Silbermann, Silberkugel. Anything having to do with silver or poison usually has a root in the Hunters. They weren’t exactly subtle, many of their ancestors taking their names from their weapons of choice.”

  
“Silver doesn’t do anything-”

  
“To us. Don’t forget the other extinct supernatural beasts of the world.” He bit his lips, thinking. “I don’t think it’s them, though, Sherlock. If it is, then they’ve lost a lot of their technique and anything that they found noble.” He had his brother’s attention now, the detective’s sharp eyes focused on his. “My adoptive father was attacked by one when I was five. I hid under the bed and watched him tear into the man, yowling against wolfsbane laced knives.” He shivered. “Once the man was Bitten, however, he took something, probably cyanide, foamed at the mouth, and died. I had to stitch my father up afterwards…” He shuddered, loathing the memory. “The thing is, Sherlock, they didn’t discriminate their Hunting nights. They would have found this practice of killing with bullets and on the night where we are weakest as shameful and dishonorable.”

  
“Maybe they simply adapted to their environment,” his brother stated, eyebrow cocking again as he theatrically threw himself into his armchair. “The world is aware of monsters, brother, and there are some people who, believe it or not, support us and our rights. Killing one of us, on a night that’s not a New Moon could lead to their own deaths-”

  
“But that was why they did it!” he hissed, “ _The glory_ , Sherlock, think about the glory of it! Killing something that is defenseless is not going to bring any credibility to anyone. The closer to the Full Moon, the more glory one would receive.”

The detective sighed. “Fine.”

  
“That’s it then?” he asked feeling dismissed and fearful. The seed that Sherlock had planted took a firm root in his mind.

  
“Yes, yes, you can go.” The violinist’s hand waved him away like a pesky maid with a tea tray. He bit back a growl.

  
Instead, he threw off the robe and tossed it onto the sofa with a stiff ‘You’re Welcome’ and Shifted, heading out into the night and back to Downing Street.  
_ _ _ _ _

  
For only the second time in his long and rather illustrious career, he was nervous. He had barely eaten breakfast and had left the house far earlier than was necessary. The opening remarks that occurred today would set the tone for the entire summit. Once the new or revised laws were created, then the Houses would be passed the bill. That could occur within the week, if they wanted to rush it through (Which was, no doubt, the case), or it could be drawn out for months. If it was the latter, then there may yet be hope of his fixing the problem he had created with the original set of laws. But, that could be asking too much. It would be hard to keep his aloof manner when there was so much on the line. But he could and would do it - he was Mycroft Holmes, after all.

  
“Mycroft Holmes.” The smug voice of Theodore Kensington, a member of the House of Lords, sounded behind him, causing him to stiffen and fix his ‘pleasant’ smile on his face.

  
“Lord Kensington,” he stated, turning, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  
The portly, grey haired man had been one of the main antagonists against any liberating changes to the Lupus sapiens bill. The man had made his stance on the ‘afflicted,’ as the older man called them, very clear. The man’s unyielding drive to contain the Wolves, place tougher restrictions on them, force them into quasi-concentration camps, was not without notice. He understood the fear of the unknown but, and it may be his sentiment speaking as well as his need to protect his newborn son, the Wolves were generally peaceful and harmless unless they were provoked. Anyone could see that the Lupus sapiens who where public servants where assets. He saw promise in the new program that Lestrade had begun. Lupus sapiens, Shifted, and working - it held a lot of potential.

  
“Away from the River House, I see,” the man continued, ignoring his statement. “Coming to protect your _pet_ project?”

  
The emphasis on the word ‘pet’ made his skin prickle. One thing Sherrinford and Sherlock continually drove home was that they were wild animals. Wild animals that happened to have human logic and heightened emotions, but wild nonetheless. “I have a vested interest in the bill, yes,” he replied, gripping his umbrella tightly. “I have seen what my brother has done in his facility and others like it. The men live good, human lives with a one night exception, once every twenty-eight days. Logic states that men are men unless proven otherwise, Lord Kensington. I simply want to see that justice upheld.”

  
The man cocked a single eyebrow and snorted derisively, looking him up and down, making him instantly regret that sympathy weight he had gained with Molly. His designer suit wasn’t fitting as well as it once had.

  
He watched the man go, already regretting his presence. He would not be allowed to speak. He could do nothing but watch as his Law was dissected and rebuilt, hopefully with more freedoms and fewer restrictions. Exhaling steadily, he made his way into the gallery of the chamber. He had to be his brothers’ eyes and ears and hope for the best.   
_ _ _ _ _

  
Hours later, the new Kensington Initiative was being rallied into law and any hopes of added freedoms for his brothers’ kind had vanished. The bill, brought forward to bring safety and security to all, especially the Lupus sapiens ( _according to the drafter_ ), had simply eliminated anything human about the afflicted men. They would not only wear tags, they were being placed in facilities on a permanent basis - to keep them safe from the new threat that faced them.

  
A majority of Parliament was furious that there were K13s who had been given permission to Shift for work. The program, holding such potential, was reduced to glorified K9 service. Each officer treated no better than a dog while on his rounds, always on a leash, always with a human partner, always muzzled and clearly marked as Lupus sapiens. At the end of duty for the day, they’d be brought back to the facilities (referred to as Kennels in the bill), where each had their own room with everything a man or wolf could want. Except their human friends and their human families. Visiting hours were restrictive and heavily enforced, like visiting hours in a prison. Always across a table, through bars or glass. No touching. Always being watched.

  
They were being reduced to dogs in shelters or common criminals and he loathed it. He suppressed a shudder at the thought of what his brothers would say, fixing his rigid, unfeeling mask in place. The session was called to a close with the promise of continued discussion on Monday. There was nothing he could do until then except gather as much information about the need for Lupus sapiens in British Society with fewer restrictions and an emphasis on their humanity.

“What do you say to the proceedings, Mycroft?”

  
_The all too smug Kensington would have sought me out to gloat (Of course)_. He stiffened, the tip of his umbrella resting on the ground with a light tap. Slowly, keeping his face blank, he turned.

  
“I think that you’re creating concentration camps for men who deserve to be treated as equal to the rest of us, my Lord,” he replied, his face trained and blank even as his worry and fury roiled in his gut. “Why do they terrify you so much? What did they do to you?”

  
The other man did not grace him with a reply even as his face drained of color. _Ah, so this is a personal vendetta. A son, perhaps? Grandson?_ The statesman inclined his head before turning and exiting, followed by his entourage.

  
Mycroft watched him go, a grim determination settling over him. He had two days to find everything he could about Kensington and his family history with the Lupus sapiens. It could keep the Wolves from their glorified prisons and his family safe.

  
_Thomas_. His stomach sank. His newborns, one human, the other a natural born Wolf, terrified him. He loved them both, but Thomas...well, he was not at all prepared to raised a Lupus sapiens. He could understand his parents’ willingness to relinquish guardianship of Sherrinford to their great-uncle twice removed, especially when he saw how his son reacted to his brothers. It was as if he were _their_ child and _not_ his own. Despite that fact, he could not bear to watch his child grow up on the other side of glass, unable to hold him, unable to feel his fur beneath his fingertips, unable to truly know him.

  
Images, flashes of his sons’ childhoods as they should be appeared before his eyes alongside pictures of what could become reality. _Two boys running together until one shivered into a new shape, four legs racing about two, yips joining laughter. A wolf, winter coat thick and full, wrapped around a red-headed boy before the fireplace as the boy read aloud before the roaring fire._

  
A new image flashed before his eyes. _A puppy, so young his eyes could hardly focus, held tenderly in Sherrinford’s arms, hands pressed against glass. A small, curly-haired ginger boy beaming at him through bars as tears filled his eyes and Molly cried._ “I can’t allow that to happen,” he murmured.


	33. Chapter 32: The Russet Wolf

His brother carried a heaviness about him that was evident as soon as he opened the front door. He could smell the worry, the rank stench of fear, even as Mycroft’s trained steps carried him through the house and up the stairs.

  
Sherrinford was currently sitting in the nursery, watching the babies fall asleep, their chests rising and falling in perfect synchronization. He could wait for his eldest brother, knowing that his steps would eventually lead him to the children. From the sound of the weighted foot steps, he would be in the nursery momentarily.

  
“How are they?” the tired voice of Mycroft Holmes asked softly, turning the corner into the sunny room. “Is Molly resting?”

  
“Everyone is fine and yes, Molly is resting,” he replied, cocking his head. “Things did not go well, did they?”

  
The red-headed man shook his head once, his eyes downcast. “Lord Kensington has introduced an addendum to the Law that will place every Lupus sapiens into quasi-concentration camps with armed guards and surveillance. Arranged visiting hours through glass or bars. K13s working only in Wolf form with muzzles and leashes, shackled into doghood and picked up or dropped off at the ‘kennel’ each day. No one else works or has a right to leave.”

  
Fear and guilt seized him. “Shit,” he breathed, biting back a growl.

  
Mycroft walked to the cribs, fingers brushing chubby cheeks, a soft smile playing at his lips. “I’ve condemned you all. The Law - it was my own idea and I’ve watched my family suffer for it - you’ve been fighting everything that you are to fit within it. And now you’ll end up living your life in a cage. I’m so sorry, Sherrinford.”

  
“Don’t,” he breathed, an added sharpness coming into his voice. “ _I_ was the one that started Turning them. _I_ started this. It seems only fitting that _I_ should be condemned for it.”

  
“If you give in to this bill, then every one of our family is condemned to live behind bars, too. Sherlock, Thomas - Evelyn would grow up without her second father, Thomas without either of his parents. It’s inexcusable, Sherrinford. You cannot give yourself up. Don’t let your guilt consume you.”

  
“If I can’t let my guilt eat away at me, then you cannot let it happen either, Mycroft.” His eyes latched on the older man’s pair, noting the distinct redness about the edges. “Our secrets can still be exposed through you.”

  
“I know,” the man whispered, breaking his gaze, “I simply feel powerless. It is a strange feeling.”

  
“What do you need me to do?” he asked, knowing that Mycroft could not act alone.

  
“I need files of successful patients. The K13 trials. Histories from the Continent. Any information you have regarding Werewolf hate groups.”

  
“Hunters,” he stated, his gaze hardening, his lips pulling into a flat line. _This is the second time they’ve been mentioned today…_ “You think they’re in Parliament?”

  
“I think _Kensington_ has a history that he doesn’t want the public knowing about. A personal vendetta.” Mycroft bent and kissed Benedict’s head before doing the same with Thomas. “That is what I need to uncover in the next two days.”

  
“Talk to Sherlock,” he replied, rising to pull his mobile from his pocket. One of his staff could get the needed files from his office at Baskerville and overnight them to Downing Street. Lestrade could get the K13 files. He needed to get his own thoughts and lessons from his father down. “I think his murderer might have a connection to your new legislation.”

  
The other man nodded distractedly, no doubt still thinking about his children, his family, and how he couldn’t tear them apart. With a final glance at the Pups, he rose and strode to his room, his thoughts swirling. His fingers beat a tattoo on his mobile screen, typing in a number that he rarely called.

  
A soft, female voice picked up. “Hello Dr. Holmes. What can I do for you?”

  
“Hello Nadia,” he replied, glad that his secretary worked weekly at the facility even if he didn’t. “I need some files while in London. Could you overnight them to me?”

  
“Of course, Dr. Holmes,” she replied cheerfully, “Which files?”

  
“It’s quite a list. I’ll email them to you in a few minutes. Thanks so much, Nadia.”

  
“Of course, Dr. Holmes,” the woman replied, “Have a lovely weekend.”

  
“The same to you.” He hung the phone up before quickly tapping out an email. The more files he could get, the better. He simply hoped that they would be enough.

  
Email sent, he next sent a text to Lestrade.

  
DOWNING STREET IN AN HOUR. BRING THE K13 FILES. THANKS.

  
Tossing his mobile aside to land on his bed, he pulled his laptop towards him and began to type. There was so much from his youth that he had never recorded but had always remembered. His adopted father was far from perfect - the man was very flawed - but he had raised him in the ways of the Wolf. And he was Alpha. Strong and protective, a leader among his kind, and the highest in England. Undoubtedly.

  
His mobile dinged, alerting him to a in-coming text. He shifted his gaze, fingers continuing to fly on the keys of his laptop.

  
DONE.

  
He smiled, his story continuing to fall from his fingers, telling the way of the Wolves for those that would never experience it.   
_ _ _ _ _

  
He greeted the DI, laptop in hand, at the end of the hour. Greg looked concerned but was decidedly calm. The new proposed bill did not effect him directly, only through his colleagues and through his interactions with the Holmes Pack.

  
“I brought the files that you asked for, Sherrinford,” the grey-haired man stated as he stepped through the door, pausing to take in the foyer, his eyes widening. “Nice place.”

“Thank you. It’s Mycroft’s,” he replied, gesturing the man forward. “Let’s meet him in the study.”

  
“You’re hoping to stop the passing of the bill.” It was a statement but it was said without emotion, giving him pause.

  
He stopped in the doorway of the study, cocking his head dangerously. “You think we should let it pass.”

  
The man bravely met his gaze, the human’s composure in place despite the near feral concentration on his face. “I don’t see how all the evidence in the world is going to stop it, Sherrinford.”

  
He growled, his upper lip pulled back in a snarl. Lestrade finally stepped back, his eyes wide. “I _know_ ,” he gritted out between his teeth, “ _Anyone_ who thinks _differently_ is mad.” He closed his eyes and inhaled slowly, regaining his composure. “ _I need your help_ , Detective Inspector. I am going to do something that is going to change the course of history and _those_ files - _they’re_ the start.”

  
Hours later, a case for the freedom of the K13s had shaped itself rather nicely. The fine men of the New Scotland Yard would no doubt support it, many glad of their colleagues with advanced senses. Sherrinford had no doubt that agencies such as the Armed Forces or MI6 would be tapping some of his more able patients before the end of the presentation. After all, who wouldn’t want to hire the best? Sean was working as private security, proving that Wolves could be a perfect line of defense. Proving that Lupus sapiens were not mindless killing machines…well…Of course, he had another plan to address that matter, but it was one that he was keeping tightly hidden from everyone else.

  
His files had arrived and another case was built. Success stories were revealed within the pages along with tastes of great sadness. One thing he realized, whether it was through his own soul or his writing style or whether it lived within his patients, he didn’t know, but everything he read contained hope. It was that hope that he needed to carry with him as Monday loomed.

  
Sighing, he closed his laptop and pushed his chair back. “Please, let this work.”


	34. Chapter 33: The Pariah

Standing at the threshold of the inevitable, of destiny, of fate, was terrifying. He tried to keep his cool, keep from letting his plan slip before he was ready to unveil it.

  
“We are ready for you, Dr. Holmes,” an aide stated, a small, flirtatious smile on her lips. He gave her a smile in return as he strode through the door as the woman ushered him towards the room. He paused in the doorway, fixing the aide in his steady, calculated gaze. “Everything is as I asked?”

  
“Yes,” the young woman nodded, her brow furrowing. “I don’t know why you want it-”

  
“Thank you,” he replied, gathering his shaky courage and his nearly nonexistent confidence as he strode into the chamber, all the eyes of the leading men in Britain on him. He fixed his face into a mask of pacificity even as the hair on the back of his neck rose. He knew that he was entering a hostile environment, something that his instincts pushed against vehemently, but he continued to move further and further into it. Becoming defensive would not help him now. He may be walking into a trap, but it was one that he was knowingly springing.

  
He swallowed, his throat constricting with nerves, and raised his eyes to the assembly. “Honored members of Parliament, thank you for allowing me to speak today. I, along with my patients, understand the need for legislation regarding the Lupus sapiens. However, before passing the Kensington Initiative into being, I ask you to consider something first…” Taking a deep breath, he pulled a thick stack of papers from the podium briefly to show the assembly. “Each of you have been given a rough draft of my findings from my time among my patients. While the writing is rather poor, the conclusions and facts are very clear. These men are men, each with their own issues and triumphs through their years of transformations. What I have concluded through my years as their psychiatrist, veterinarian, and caretaker on Moon nights, is that over time these men are not only thriving as they are but they are making the most of the life they have been given. Aren’t we all?”

  
His feet had brought him to the center of the floor where his laptop, complete with a powerpoint presentation sat, waiting, on the floor. He tugged a bit at his tie, loosening the knot even as the knot in his throat tightened. “Would you gentlemen and ladies allow me to slip into something more comfortable?” He didn’t pause, pulling the tie off along with his suit coat. His fingers flew along his buttons as he slipped his shoes off. He’d count the rest as a loss, and called the Shift.

  
For a sweet second, he lost the sound of the assembly. It came rushing back to him in a roar. Shouts of shock, calls of indignation, gasps of terror. His unveiling of his true self, years in the making, must have looked like something from a monster film. To him, it was simply living - inhaling on two legs and exhaling on four.

  
He shook himself free from the remains of his shirt, socks, and trousers, his paws sinking into the plush carpeting of Westminster Palace. Noting that the security guards had sprung into action, he got to work. He scanned the chamber, finding Mycroft’s horrified face, and placed his paw on the mouse of his laptop, beginning his slideshow and revealing his story in front of everyone.

  
_This is me: Dr. John Sherrinford Holmes_. Click.

  
_This is who I really am._ Click.

  
_I am the oldest and only natural-born Lupus sapiens in Great Britain_. Click.

  
_As you can hopefully now tell, I am completely rational - Even on four legs, I am still entirely human_. Click.

  
_As are all of my patients and every Lupus sapiens within the UK and throughout the world_. Click.

  
The shock seemed to have worn off at this point, disgruntled and semi-shocked mutterings flitting around the vast chamber above him. The security guards, hands on their weapons, were simply staring, open-mouthed.

  
_I was born to a wonderful family in 1981_. Click.

  
_One with no history of lycanthropy. One that did not expect a monster to live among them. I was a genetic anomaly, something they were not prepared for._ Click.

  
_So I was sent to a Pack on the Continent, raised by a man who became my father in every way but blood. A Wolf who taught me about what it meant to be what I am. What every Wolf in England is: A human with a deep, intimate connection with nature._ Click.

  
_That is all lycanthropy is - an ability to commune with the world around you in a different, distinct way._ Click.

  
I _t does not change the men who are infected by it. They are still the same. As is illustrated by the report you have been given._ Click.

  
_A loving husband or father does not love his spouse or his children any less._ Click.

  
_A protective man, a soldier, a police officer, is not any less of an honorable man driven to protect and secure his home, his city, his country._ Click.

  
_A lawless man is still driven to consume that which is not his own._ Click.

  
_A kind man, a doctor, a veterinarian, is still driven to help others - even at the expense of himself._ Click.

  
_I was privileged to receive an education in England, at Cambridge, and I was even more privileged to be reconciled with my family. My family who accepted me - saw me for who I am, no matter my shape:_ Click.

  
_A lonely man of above average intellect and a willingness to help others like myself._

  
He glanced up at Mycroft who shook his head, mouthing ‘no.’ He didn’t listen. Click.

  
_I am not blameless in the outbreak of lycanthropy in England. My arrival showed the other Lupus sapiens in the rest of the world that the UK was free for the picking. My arrival brought St. Pierre and the mad Turnings._ Click.

  
_For that, I am forever filled with regret._ Click. He whined, the sound soft but carrying through the now silent chamber.

  
_It is why I work with the victims, reminding them that they are human, if only a bit different than they were before._ Click.

  
_Some have found peace with it, using their new connection with nature to improve their lives and the lives of those around them. Some have learned to live with it, viewing it as a disease and a terrible responsibility, aware that one Bite can change another man’s life forever._ Click.

  
_Others still struggle. Being viewed as something less than human when one is still very much oneself is humiliating. It creates a stigma that grows within their minds and the minds of the populace until it consumes everything good in the world._ Click.

  
_If all men are viewed as equals under the laws of the land, why should Lupus sapiens be any different? We are still men capable of rational thoughts and actions regardless of how we appear. Is forcing an entire population into ‘kennels’ truly the answer? Or will it simply drive the hysteria?_ Click.

  
_Of course, you could be thinking that I am simply a well-trained dog at this point. After all, I am not capable of human speech in this form, so I offer you the opportunity to question me. I only ask for patience, as I am a slow typer._

  
He lay down, licking the mousepad with his tongue to close the presentation to reveal an empty word document. He raised his head expectantly, looking around as the noise of the gathered assembly rose about him. Shouting became jumbled, hurting his ears, making him whine and bend his head again, his nose, right paw and tongue playing across the keys.

  
_One at a time, please. It is overwhelming to have everyone yelling at once._

  
Instantly, the shouting stopped, replaced by low murmurings about the seemingly miraculous feat that he had just performed. He glanced up at his elder brother, gaging his reaction to his partial truths. The statesman’s face was in its usual composed mask though the man gave him a small nod.

  
A loud voice drifted from a seat to his right, causing his ears and wedge-shaped head to swivel in that direction. An older, balding man with white hair and a pot-belly was glaring at him as he spoke. “You claim to be born into the body you’re now inhabiting. I know for a fact that the Turned Wolves are not as comfortable. It’s stated in your very own report, Dr. Holmes. Is not placing them someplace where they can’t harm others while they, shall we say, _transition_ , for the best?”

  
He cocked the muscle over his eye, keeping his teeth hidden even as he wanted to peel his lips back. Instead, he dropped his head and plied his nose, dextrous tongue, and one of his paw’s pads to the keyboard.

  
_With the exception of the four new K13 officers recently Bitten by St. Pierre, none of the Lupus sapiens are in ‘transition.’ They are well adapted, just at differing levels of acceptance. If you were told that your very existence was unnatural, you would have self loathing and disgust at what you are, too. It is what society is telling you to do. It is difficult to go against societal pressures._

  
His gaze flickered back to the man that had asked him the question, waiting to see if he was going to question him further. The man beside him, younger and similar looking ( _A son or nephew possibly?_ ), stated, “And those that died? What about them?”

  
He bent to his task, his tags scraping across the keyboard as his head moved.

  
_For those that do not survive the Shift, I must ask, does one arrest those that transmit STD’s or AIDS? Those are equally fatal in comparison to a Wolf’s Bite. While I can see the concern, it is important to realize that Lupus sapiens, unless they are like St. Pierre, do not go out of their way to Bite people. They know that they can pass their condition onto others, just as those with STD’s do. Scientists at Baskerville are working on suppressants. One to prevent Shifting and another to prevent the transmission of lycanthropy. Neither are close to being tested but they are in development, which should be a comfort to those that fear lycanthropy and the Lupus sapiens._

  
_The fear, however, is unfounded. We are good men. We only want to live full lives._

  
“As fascinating as this is, Dr. Holmes,” the fat, old man was speaking again, looking a bit too smug for his liking, “What you’re doing currently is illegal. Addendum sixty-three from 2017 states: A Lupus sapiens is not permitted to Shift in public as the sight of it is grotesque and horrendous, something that I believe everyone here will second. I hate to put an end to your informative session, but…you’re under arrest.”

  
Something stung him in the left flank making him yelp and spin. The tranquilizer dart was potent, working quickly, turning his limbs to lead. The crowd around him was in an uproar but seemed to grow quieter as darkness glazed over his eyes.


	35. Chapter 34: The Consulting Detective

John had arrived home early and thrown his telly on, blasting the volume until he was sucked from his Mind Palace. “What?” he hissed, his eyes flashing to his Mate before hearing the reporter.

  
“A scene unlike any other in Parliament today. Dr. Sherrinford Holmes, the world’s leading expert in Lupus sapiens, revealed the reason behind his success with his patients. I warn you, this can be rather disconcerting to watch.” The image of Sherrinford’s Shift appeared on the screen, the screams of the members of the House of Commons and the House of Lords piercing his ears.

  
“No,” he breathed, rising from his cross-legged position on the floor, striding to the screen, his eyes widening. “ _NO!_ Sherrinford!”

  
“Mycroft called me at work. Said that he couldn’t reach you even though he tried calling six times!” his Mate shouted, moving to block the picture. “Sherrinford’s been _arrested_. Something about breaking the sixty-third addendum to your eldest brother’s Law.”

  
“We have to get him out!” He was already flying through the flat to grab his Belstaff, his heart racing. _Why are both my brothers idiots?!_ he mentally hissed, berating them. _We’ve been ruined. We’re out of the bag - John! Evelyn! Not Evelyn! No. Think, Sherlock. There must be something we can do…_

  
His Mate was blocking his exit, arms crossed his chest and a scowl on his face. “We’re not going anywhere, Sherlock. We have been told to lie low. To remain home and to not engage the public. Mycroft will get Sherrinford out, and, after that, you can tear into him. But not before.”

  
He glowered at the shorter man, not even trying to suppress a snarl. The sound ripped out of his chest as his teeth flashed. John simply cocked an eyebrow. “ _Fine_ ,” he gritted through his bared teeth.

  
In a huff, he threw his body onto his couch and glowered at the television.

  
“This public Shift in the House of Commons has raised several issues with both our country’s lawmakers and our viewing public. While startling and slightly terrifying, it was noted by several witnesses, as well as the tape from the meeting, that Dr. Holmes did not make a move to attack. In fact, he did quite the opposite, laying down and typing out answers on his personal computer!”

  
The image of the russet wolf typing rather painstakingly vanished to reveal a young, blonde, female reporter. “This is all rather fantastical. It is one thing to hear about a Lupus sapiens and quite another to actually see one. And to have it be a public figure such as Sherrinford Holmes, it’s rather extraordinary. Now, to discuss this further, we welcome to our studio Lord Kensington from the House of Lords, William Buckley of the House of Commons, and Senior Science Analyst, Dr. Jean Farmer. Welcome everyone and thank you for joining us.”

  
The camera panned out to reveal the rest of the table. He bit back a growl as the girth of Kensington was revealed. He knew instantly that that man was the one that had put his brother behind bars. The other gentleman from the House of Commons strongly resembled a weasel but at least had the decency to not carry himself as one. The woman looked about as unprepared as the reporter.

  
“Turn it off,” he muttered, throwing a hand over his eyes, “I’ve seen enough.”

  
John, for once, obeyed, clicking the device off and moving to sit beside him on the couch, one of his strong hands coming to rest on his knee.

  
The worried silence was broken by the ringing of his mobile. The soldier leaned forward, picking it up. “It’s Mycroft.”

  
“Put it on speaker.” _He’d better have Sherrinford_. “What happened, Mycroft?”

  
“I see you’ve heard the news.” The older man’s voice sounded weary through the line.

  
“Yes, of course,” he practically growled, “Why did you let him do it?” Rage and terror were rising through him. He curled his fingernails into his palms in an attempt to calm himself.

  
John’s hand closed over his arm, calming him even as his heart and mind continued to race. “Let him explain, Sherlock. It can’t be all bad.”

  
“He’s exposed us all,” he stated, eyes narrowing at the device in John’s free hand. “He’s condemned us.”

  
Mycroft sighed. “Sherrinford _saved_ you. He fixed the problem I created. He took the fall so no one else had to.”

  
“What did he do?” he asked, curiosity peaked. “They won’t say on the news.”

  
“He told the truth: He’s a natural born Wolf. He’s the reason St. Pierre Turned all those men. And, despite being furry at the time, the lawmakers of our country saw the humanity in him, and through him, all the Lupus sapiens.”

  
“And what else?” he asked, unbelieving. He leaned closer to the mobile, impatient.

  
“The Kensington Initiative was voted down. Your rights will continue to be discussed this session, but there is hope that you’ll will no longer be seen as second-class citizens,” the auburn haired man replied, his tone light, given the circumstances.

  
“That’s it?” John could not believe it, and, honestly, neither could he. There was something that Mycroft wasn’t telling them. “What about Sherrinford?”

  
“No. Wait,” he cut in, wanting to know about his brother but needing to know about the rest of the deal first, “What do _you_ have to do?”

  
The man rubbed that back of his neck. “I have to allow them access to the transition facilities on the next Full Moon. Prove that you’re all harmless…or contained.”

  
“Which means that Mycroft, who had obviously tried to protect his long-lost younger brother through his Law, will be completely free to show them around.” Sherlock nodded, understanding. “I hope it works.” _Or the Hunters will see this as an opportunity to wipe us all out - one facility at a time_ , he reasoned, unable to shake the fear that had settled in his gut. “And Kensington?”

  
“I suspect that I will find a history of Hunters in his family,” his sibling stated matter of factly. “If he takes another Wolf out, it’s murder. He, or anyone else that kills you, will go to jail for a very long time. With Sherrinford’s secret out, you have an ambassador-”

  
“We have a target on our backs,” he stated, then stopped, an idea blazing through his mind like a hot knife through butter. “You’re hoping that the killer will come for Sherrinford.”

  
The other man smiled, teeth out. “Oh, yes. That’s the plan. You’re in the clear. He explicitly stated that he was alone, an unexpected monster in an ordinary family.”

  
“Thank you, Sherrinford” John murmured to the open air, a small, relieved smile playing at his lips. His blue-grey eyes found his, wide and filled with relieved love. _He’s happy that no one will take me from him_. A warmth settled in his chest at the thought, knowing that he didn’t want to risk what he had with the man and child he loved either.

  
“And Sherrinford?”

  
“Is being held in a government sanctioned facility for the time being. They want to observe him and question him further. Then, thanks to my minor position in the government, he will be released without a single mark on his record.” There was a sigh over the line. “He is allowed visitors. I think he’s hoping that it will draw the killer out.”

  
“I hope that he’s thought this through,” he breathed, allowing the sentiment to slip through his lips as he hung up on his brother.

  
The hand on his arm tightened. “Sherlock,” John murmured, “What are you thinking?”

  
Sherlock shook his head, fringe falling across his brow. _Sherrinford could have just saved us or condemned us and only time will tell. He brushed the other man off, turning to face his wall. All roads led to Kensington…but how?_ His face pulled into it’s mask before he closed his eyes and fell back into his Mind Palace. He still had a case to solve.

  
After an hour of staring, he pulled his robe off and shook himself onto four legs. Shifting did nothing to stop his whirling thoughts - it hadn’t for a long time. He was focused on what was coming, on what his brother had done. Taking the step from the shadows and into the glaring light might have given Sherrinford freedom to be himself but it felt like he was being further restrained. After all, the Holmes family had a reputation to uphold and one monster was more than enough for the public to handle. Having two sons and a grandson mucking about on four legs would ruin everything that his posh parents had created and it would ruin Mycroft and his powerful career.

  
_And yet..._

  
_Being able to run and be myself. To have no fear as I work, able to Shift without pause or concern. Able to race through the London streets on two or four legs without a care of who saw me or of being caught and brought to a pound where I’d eventually have to Shift back. To be rid of the collar, of the illusion of being a pet instead of the wild animal that I truly am._

  
Sighing, he stopped his pacing and laid down, his heavy head dropping to his paws. Everything was out of his hands and he hated it.

  
The sound of John’s feet on the stairs reached his ears but he didn’t move, simply listening to the other man’s descent. The strong, sturdy body of the army doctor settled beside him, a rough hand tugging at his ears and his brow with soft mutters and reassurances. It was comforting, soothing, to know that John was with him. His Mate in every sense of the word but one. He knew, no matter what happened, he would protect this man to the last. The world might be less than ideal but it would certainly be a much darker place without John Watson.


	36. Chapter 35: The Teacher

She was horrified, her eyes fixed on the telly and the only thing the news reporters seemed able to talk about. Her...well, she didn’t even know if he was her boyfriend...watching his strong, lithe body break itself into the furred form that she had never seen but had suspected. “Oh, Sherrinford,” she breathed, her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide and filled with unshed tears. “Why?”

  
Again and again, the horrifying images playing and playing across the screen, on every channel. She couldn’t escape it. And she was traumatized. Though not one hundred percent surprised.

  
She knew. _Of course_ she knew. But she had never admitted it to herself. He had been so _bad_ at hiding his wolfish traits - his flaring nostrils, his sniffing, his head tilting, his smiles without teeth - that she had figured it out quickly, especially with her upbringing. It hadn’t bothered her, really; not at first. And now, now she was thinking that it had been a horrible idea to have continued their relationship with that hidden knowledge. “God,” she breathed again, rubbing her temples with her fingers.

  
Her mobile rang shrilly, pulling her from her rampaging thoughts. She picked it up, noting the screen. _Home_. “Shit,” she hissed, knowing that she couldn’t ignore this call even though she desperately wanted to. Swiping right, she breathed, “Hello?”

  
The hysterical voice of her mother penetrated her eardrum. “Imogen! Have you seen the news?” The woman’s excitement was evident and her worry pulled to the forefront of her mind.

  
“Yeah, Mum,” she sighed, trying to steady her racing heartbeat as she watched Sherrinford reveal his true self to the world for the thirty-second time, “It’s everywhere.”

  
“Did you know about this? That your boyfriend - the Lupus sapiens expert - was one of _them_?”

  
She swallowed, preparing for the lie of her life. “No, Mum. I had no idea.”

  
“Well, he seems like quite the charmer. So handsome. It’s a shame...” Her mother’s voice dropped. “Your uncle thought that there had to be at least _one_ in that family. I had my money on the detective - an odd duck - that one, but it seems like your baited the right one!” She could hear a light, flutey chuckle over the line. “Maybe it’s time he met the family, Darling?”

  
“Something tells me that he’s going to be rather busy for the next month or so. Besides, I haven’t talked to him in over a week,” she replied, feeling a rift open up within her. “I’m not sure that Hunting Sherrinford Holmes is a good idea. He’s now the face of the entire Lupus sapiens species. If he gets killed...”

  
“If he gets killed, the rest of them get sloppy and we have easy pickings. Don’t forget about your family, Girl. This is what we do. We Hunt monsters so that everyone else can be safe.” There was a pause. “Don’t tell me that you’ve actually fallen in _love_ with that man. He’s a _creature_! A _thing!_ ”

  
Quickly covering what she realized was the truth, she blurted out, “NO! Never! I live for the family! No _man_ is going to put an end to that.”

  
“Good,” his mother practically purred, “Then you’ll be the one to take him out. Hiding behind sloppy murders on New Moons is below us now, Darling. Kill him and bring me his pelt. It looks... _luxurious_.”

  
She inhaled shakily. “Of course, Mother.” She removed the device from her ear and hung it up. “ _Shit_.”

  
She picked up her mobile again and stared at it, her eyes flashing back to the screen as the Wolf’s jaws, newly unfurled snapped twice, tongue running over those sharp and poisonous teeth. “Oh, Sherrinford,” she breathed through the sense of hopelessness that settled into her gut, “Why did it have to be this way?”

  
Slowly, she allowed her fingers to open her Messenger app. She scrolled down her messages, finding the last text she had sent to the man who kept breaking on the tv screen.

  
CAN WE VISIT SOON? I MISS YOU.

  
She did not expect a response, knowing that, at the time, the man was on assignment. It hurt to see how plainly she needed him in writing. Exiting the app, she pulled up the number for her uncle.

  
“Hello? Uncle Teddy? It’s Imogen.”

  
“Immy!”

  
“Yes,” she replied, gritting her teeth and firming her resolve, “It’s Immy. I was wondering if I could get some time with Sherrinford Holmes. I know you have him in custody.”

  
The pause over the line made her hold her breath. “I assume your mother’s spoken with you about him?”

  
“Yes, sir,” she replied, obediently, keeping her facade in place. “It would be a shame if the Lupus sapiens movement lost their leader.”

  
The dark chuckle on the other end made her cringe. “Tomorrow afternoon should be fine, Immy,” the man replied. “We’re running tests in the morning. We haven’t had a natural born bastard in centuries!”

  
“Enjoy, Uncle,” she said before quickly hanging up, her stomach knotting disconcertingly.

  
The conversation had made her feel dirty, like a truly horrible person. It made her heart ache and her stomach nauseous. She had gone into the relationship with an open mind, with an open heart, and the Wolf had moved right in. She had been on the outs with her family for a while, practically disowned since she’d refused to go on her coming-of-age Hunt at 21. She had been raised to see the Lupus sapiens as animals in men’s clothing and, for the most part, she could see that side of the argument: St. Pierre had been a monster. But then she’d done her own research in college, finding Sherrinford’s publications primarily, and had found her own way and her own conclusions and opinions. It was life-changing, something that was further cemented when she had met Sherrinford in person and he had shown her a very different picture. He hadn’t even been Bitten, a man contracting a disease! No, he had been born with it, he had been raised with it, and he was the best man that she knew: funny, intelligent, kindhearted, and so very giving. And now, because she had told her brother, the one seemingly rational person in her immediate family, about her relationship, her mother commanded her to kill the man that she loved. All because he was a man that lived in a Wolf’s pelt.

  
Praying that she was given some shred of privacy tomorrow when she was in with the man, she readied herself for bed and a rather uneasy night’s sleep.  
_ _ _ _ _

  
The facility, part of the River campus, was rather plain on the exterior, and unassuming. On a normal day, no one would suspect that there was a werewolf living there in captivity. But she knew better. As did the hundreds of protestors camped outside, some of whom were supportive of the werewolves, others who were vehemently supportive of her uncle and his racist initiatives.

  
After much pushing and shoving, she found her way through the initial checkpoint and into the depths of the building. Imogen had to breathe a small sigh of relief. With her uncle’s credentials, she was able to quickly pass security and all of the subsequent checkpoints. She was led through plain halls to a white door, a single guard posted beside it. “That’s it?” she breathed, a bit let down after all the hype. Then she noticed the apparatus itself.

  
The door was titanium, unbreakable and solidly reinforced. It was terrifying and she could only guess what horrors lay beyond it. With a nod, she gestured for the door to be opened and she stepped through.

  
The room was nicely furnished and well-lit, rather like a luxury apartment than a cell. Everything was white and grey but it contained a full kitchen and living/dining room as well as two darkened rooms (without doors) beyond. One was, no doubt, the washroom; the other, the bedroom. Between her and the furnishings, however, was a thick sheet of bulletproof glass. The door to the flat was sealed. Two cameras were aimed her way and she counted five more throughout the parts of the lit flat. She did not see microphones, however, so there was some semblance of privacy. _They probably think that he’s just an animal, incapable of thinking beyond the terrifying thoughts of being captured and caged._ The wolf was nowhere in sight.

  
“Sherrinford?” she called softly, taking a couple of steps into her part of the room, worry setting in. _Please be okay. Please_.

  
“Hello? Imogen?” The cheerful yet wary voice of the man that she loved causing her heart to flutter and her stomach to sink.

  
“Hello, Sherrinford,” she breathed, watching the man’s lanky body enter from the bedroom. He was a bit worse for wear, looking exhausted. His hair was rumpled and unkempt, rather scruffy patches of facial hair clung to his cheeks and around his mouth, and his eyes, still alert, looked weary and sunken. His body was covered in bruises and his gait had a slight limp to it. He was only wearing a sheet. _He must have recently Shifted_ , she reasoned, knowing that he wouldn’t have been allowed clothes anyway - Wolves never were. She should have known that her uncle wouldn’t treat the man well while under his care.

  
“I was afraid that you would never want to see me again,” he stated, his voice carrying a significant amount of weight. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. About me. I-I thought that you’d stop seeing me…or expose me…And I couldn’t risk that…” He released a humorless chuckle as he rubbed the back of his neck, pulling at the dog tags there. “Of course, I did this to myself, so…”  
There was a significant pause between them, their ears humming with the silence. The wolf broke it, taking a few more steps forward. “I am so sorry. I-I should have told you...”

  
“Sherrinford,” she breathed, “Stop.” Her eyes filled with tears breaking her hardened exterior so she looked down, trying to hide her weakness.

She heard his teeth snap together at the command, listening. “What were you thinking?”

  
She waited for a reply, her own thoughts becoming difficult to track. She pressed a hand to the glass, smudging it but needing it’s support.

  
“I was thinking that, for once in my life, I can live as I choose, even if it means that my life is forfeit.”

  
“You know,” she breathed, her eyes snapping up to meet those beautiful, sky blue orbs. Her stomach was a roiling mess, sinking towards her toes and rising to choke her like a vice.

  
“Know what?” he asked, his voice curious but cautious.

  
“That they’re Hunting you now.” She swallowed, wishing the feeling of terror away.

  
There was a heavy inhale accompanied by widening eyes. “Imogen, how do you know about the Hunters?”

  
She bit her lips. “I-I....” She exhaled. “I’ve been ordered to take you out by the matriarch, who probably received the kill order from the patriarch.”

  
“You’re related to Kensington.” It was a statement of fact. Sherrinford was a brilliant man, she should have known that he would have figured it out.

  
“He’s my great-uncle,” she murmured, looking at her toes.

  
“How long have you been planning this?” he asked, his voice soft, no trace of malice in it.

  
“I don’t want to, Sherrinford. I-I don’t think I can. I never wanted to. Please know that,” she breathed, tears flooding her eyes and running down her cheeks. “I meant it when I told you that I love you, Sherrinford. I am not _like_ my family - I haven’t killed; I’ve never wanted to, though I’d never second guessed it before. And then I met you...Now I know how wrong my family is, how wrong all the Hunters are. _You’ve shown me that!_ ”

  
The man was silent, his nostrils flared. “Sherrinford? Please forgive me,” she breathed, so close to the glass that her words fogged it.  
“For what?” came the soft, slow baritone reply. “You haven’t done anything to wrong me yet…”

  
“And I don’t plan to! _I swear_!” she cried, her tears causing her breaths to be shallow and rapid. “ _I love you, Sherrinford_.”

  
The man appeared before her, a sad smile on his handsome but haggard face. His larger hand covered hers. “ _You_ are the only one who has been ordered to kill me?” the man asked, his voice surprisingly even, as if his life was threatened on a daily basis.

  
“As far as I know: yes,” she breathed, trying to hide the subtle notes of fear in her voice. “Why do you ask?”

  
“Because, if what you’re saying is true, you can help me. I know that this is a large ask, Imogen, but...the killer, the Hunter who has been shooting Wolves on the New Moon, is a murderer. He needs to be brought to justice and I intend to do that. For that, I will need your help.” He paused, allowing his statement to sink in.

  
_Someone in the Hunt has been killing the Lupus sapiens and Sherrinford thinks I know who it is. I don’t, but my mother certainly will. But...How can I save him and my family? It’s not possible....Someone is going to lose and I am going to be the one to decide._

  
The weight of her decision rested on her shoulders. “What do you want me to do?”

  
A relieved exhale reached her ears as the man rested his head agains the glass. “Thank you, Imogen. I-I don’t know how to repay you. I know that it can’t be easy, going against your family.”

  
“They’re bigots and killers. You’ve proven that to me time and time again,” she murmured, explaining her decision. “So, I’ll ask again: What do you need me to do?”

  
“See how long you can postpone - I need to be at Baskerville for the Moon and for my new patient. You will then capture me after and bring me to your leader.” The werewolf on the other side of the barrier chuckled. “I’ve always wanted to say that: ‘Take me to your leader.’ Ehehehe.”

  
She couldn’t help but laugh with him even as her eyes teared up and her throat constricted. “How are you so calm right now? If I knew that I was slated to die, I’d be hyperventilating in a corner.”

  
The man released a self-depreciating chuckle, his lips curling into a tiny smile that allowed his teeth to flash. “I thought I was a goner when I started this mad idea. This plan…it is giving me hope for a better future, and that’s because of you.” He paused, flushing a handsome shade of pink as his head tipped to the left. “I love you, Imogen. It is because I love and trust you that I know that everything will be alright.”

The new silence between them was much more comfortable than it had been. “Sherrinford,” she murmured, “If I wasn’t a Hunter, what would you be doing?”

  
“Well, I’m free to go tomorrow morning - supposedly, so I guess I’d be planning something with my brothers. They are geniuses, after all. Ultimately, it’d be much riskier than simply turning myself in. After that point, well, we’ll figure it out. As for my relationship with you? I would visit, as promised, and hope to continue to cultivate our friendship until it became something more. Then I would have told you about all of this - about me and my past, with the hope that you’d see past a little bit of fur to become my Mate. In all things and in all ways,” he replied softly, a bit of wistful hope playing through his voice, adding richness to the timbre as his eyes sparkled, a soft smile playing about the corners of his mouth.

  
“Are you asking me to marry you?” she breathed, images rushing through her mind. S _herrinford, looking dapper in a tuxedo, waiting at the altar. The russet wolf from the telly romping about her as they strolled through a park. The same wolf curled beside her on the couch, his heavy head on her lap. Strong hands cupping her slightly rounded abdomen, blue eyes filled with joyful tears._

  
“In the future,” the man murmured, his gaze distant, “Yes. I would have you at my side, always. The Alphas of our own Pack, running together.”

  
“You would Bite me?” she breathed, a unexpected thrill racing through her.

  
“Only with your consent,” he replied. “Only if that was what you truly wanted. Your life is your own and I won’t make any decisions for you. I can only have hopes for our future together. A future that I can still hope for, once this has passed. If you’ll have a natural born Lupus sapiens?”

  
She was crying in earnest now, hiccuping as she inhaled shakily. “Yes, yes. I love you, Sherrinford. I’ll have you - any future with you is better than anything without you.”

  
“Imogen,” the voice on the other side murmured comfortingly but passionately, “I love you.”

  
“Keep me informed,” she insisted at a hoarse whisper, “I want a future with you.”

  
The man beamed at her, tears in his eyes. “I will. I promise.”

  
Smiling back, she wiped her own eyes and took a step back. “I should go.”

  
Sherrinford simply nodded, his eyes not leaving hers until the heavy door closed behind her.


	37. Chapter 36: The British Government

Regardless of the rather humiliating muzzle, spiked choke collar, and thick leash that rested on his younger sibling when he arrived to pick him up, he was glad that the younger man seemed to be in one piece. He refrained from saying anything, filling out the proper paperwork before accepting the end of the leash with a blank face. Sherrinford, for once, remained just as silent.

  
The flashbulbs that greeted them were blinding. Sherrinford cowered beside him, his massive body pressing against his leg, no doubt covering it with fur. Unable to stop himself, and maybe to drive his own thoughts on Lupus sapiens, their rights, and their humanity, he placed a hand on his youngest brother’s wedge-shaped head, ruffling and tugging at his ears.

  
“Mr. Holmes! Mr. Holmes! Care to comment?”

  
“Did you know about your brother?”

“What is your next step?”

  
“Are you glad the Kensington Act has been shot down?”

  
Knowing that something had to be said to continue the momentum of the movement that his brother had started, he paused just outside of his car. He opened the door, in case his brother wanted to escape, and turned to face the reporters and protestors. “I will be making one statement, and one statement only: I believe in my brother and the work that he is doing for himself and for people like him and I will support him, no matter what, because I know that he is a good man. There are people in government and on every street who will think differently, who will try to make the unknown and less understood out to be monsters because of a genetic condition that they lacked control in contracting. The Lupus sapiens, are first and foremost, men and they should always be treated as such, their actions received as those of their human counterparts. I am glad that the Kensington Initiative has been shot down but I know that there will always be other Kensington Initiatives. Please, be vigilant. Stand for what you believe to be right. And, through that work, we can build a better Britain. Thank you.”

  
He turned to slide into the car when a single shot rang out. His youngest sibling yelped, collapsing into his thigh like a deadweight, half in the car, half out of it. “Sherrinford?” he breathed, dropping the stupid leash to pull the surprisingly heavy form of his brother into the car. Blood, thick with the silvery mucus came away in his hands. “ _Shit!_ ”

  
His sibling, thankfully, yowled as he pulled on his body and heaved with his haunches, trying to scramble into the car. Screams had split the air as the crowds attempted to disperse. The wolf’s body finally on the backseat, he sprang in onto the floor, yelling, “Gerald! St. Bart’s! As fast as you can!” John was working and would, no doubt, drop everything to save the man bleeding out before him.

  
The wound was in his brother’s collarbone and was bleeding so profusely, he wondered if his carotid artery had been punctured too. _Only one shot, so no. Unless - exit wound?_ Yanking his jacket off, he wadded it agains the shoulder and applied pressure. Sherrinford howled, his right hind leg taking a swipe at him. “Stay still!” he hissed, “We’ve got to get this bleeding under control!”

  
The car was not helping matters careening around corners and dodging pedestrians. He kept losing his grip on his brother as he was thrown across the back of the car, slamming into a door with a yelp of his own. Struggling against centripetal force, he applied his weight to the wolf’s wound again, earning him another howl. “Stay with me, Brother,” he commanded, applying more force to the wound, noting that his suit jacket was almost completely soaked through.

  
The car screeched to a halt. “We’re here, sir,” Gerald said, gasping through the window, not believing that they had made it through the traffic with his reckless driving any more than he did.

  
Not waiting for anything, he gathered his brother’s considerable mass into his arms, pressing the wounds into his chest. The action only earned him a whimper. The natural born wolf was fading. “Come on, Sherrinford,” he grunted, sliding out of the car and running, as best he was able under the added awkward weight he had cradled against his chest (and dragged along the sidewalk). “Help! We need a doctor! Get Dr. Watson!”

  
Paramedics streamed out of the building, their eyes widening at the being in his arms. Thankfully, they gently but swiftly took the wolf from his arms and laid him on a gurney. “It’s a bullet wound!” he was shouting, unable to stop, following the medical staff as they wheeled his brother into the building, “Right clavicle. He’s lost a lot of blood. He can’t shift back - he’s too weak. Save him! He’s my little brother!”

  
A nurse pushed him back at the surgery doors. “Take care of him! Please!” He collapsed, unable to support himself anymore, his hands shaking uncontrollably. " _Please_.”  
_ _ _ _ _

  
He wasn’t alone, invisibly shaking in the waiting room, for too long. Sherlock appeared in a swirl of his Belstaff, his face blank but his eyes showing a glint of fear. He sat beside him, not making a sound, rigid as a board, his verdigris eyes fixed on the operating theatre doors.   
Hours later, John Watson emerged from the surgery looking exhausted and a bit downtrodden. As one, he and his younger sibling rose, worry coming to a point.

  
The doctor released a sigh. “This had better not become a habit because this is the second time I’ve had to pretend to be a vet for him and I’m too old for it.”

  
“So he’ll be alright?” he asked, for once not entirely sure.

  
“He’s not out of the woods yet. Basically, I’ve got a transfusion run and the bullet out. The bleeding’s mostly stopped: he’s lucky. The bullet shattered his clavicle and one of the bone fragments nicked his carotid. Now, he needs to heal enough to Shift without doing more damage. It’ll probably be a few days but, knowing Sherrinford, he’ll be fit for the Moon.”

  
The grey-haired man gave him a pointed look before lowering his voice and leaning in. “If it were anyone else, I’d keep him here, but I think being near _family_ might do him some good. So, I’m releasing him into your care, Mycroft. Get him home _safe_ this time.” The man gave him a tight-lipped smile and a clap on the shoulder before allowing one of his hands to brush his Mate’s arm as he left the waiting area to return to his work.

  
Gathering his authority about him, the British Government turned to face the Wolf beside him. “Come with us for a bit, Sherlock. I am sure Sherrinford would appreciate you being there when he comes to.”

  
The detective nodded. “Of course.” The man released a small smile in his direction before his face went blank again. _Wolves cared for Pack_. _It’s his instincts_.

  
It wasn’t hard to find the Recovery Room. It was flooded with curious hospital staff, all trying to catch a glimpse on the infamous Sherrinford Holmes. The young man was still asleep, a faint snore exiting his parted jaws, his tongue lolling out until it hit the muzzle. Sherlock cocked an eyebrow but said nothing. The man’s right shoulder and part of his neck and chest were wrapped in white bandage, the right foreleg bound up against his chest to promote the proper set of the bone. The bleeding had stopped (Thanks to his sibling’s inhuman healing rate) and the wound would be nearly invisible to the untrained eye by the morning but the bones would take at least a week to fully heal, if not longer.

  
“We should use the morgue entrance,” the Turned Wolf muttered, flinching away from another inquisitive nurse who nudged past him to snap a picture. “Excuse me!” he interjected, hissing and throwing an elbow, but the woman was quickly replaced by another.

  
“HIPA VIOLATION!” he yelled, stepping between his injured sibling and the staff. “If I see a single posting on the internet or hear a word of this breathed on the street, you’ll be terminated. Are we clear?” He paused briefly, his eyes glaring about the crowd, daring them to misstep. “Now, get out!”

  
Whether it was because of his authority, it was known that he occupied a minor position in the government, or Sherlock’s terrifying snarl, the crowd dispersed. “Yes,” he replied, brushing a bit of his hair back into place, “The morgue it is.”

  
Quickly, and without jostling the wolf as best they could, the gurney was wheeled from Recovery through several hallways and into the service elevator. Mycroft allowed one of his hands to rest on his youngest brother’s back, feeling his chest rise and fall steadily. He couldn’t help but smile. _He’s safe. Safe._ Sherlock was not old enough to remember losing Sherrinford the first time but he remembered it as if it were yesterday.

  
_“Mother? What’s wrong?” he asked, coming into his parent’s bedroom to visit his new brother but instead finding his mother crying and throwing baby items into bags._

  
_The woman froze, fear flickering across her face before her shoulders heaved a sob, one of her hands flying up to cover her mouth. His brow furrowed and he took another step into his parents’ room. His eyes found the jumble of baby items poking out of the baby’s diaper bag.“Are we going somewhere?”_

  
_“No, no, Mycy,” she gasped, turning her back on him, “We’re not going anywhere.”_

  
_“Then why are you packing?” He snuck a glance into the bassinet, noting that the baby was completely covered, which seemed odd. Wasn’t she worried about him suffocating? “What happened to Sherrinford?”_

  
_His voice was quiet and shaking and the blanket in the bassinet was so very still._

  
_“He didn’t make it, Myc,” his mother shuddered out, “Sometimes babies aren’t destined to make it.”_

  
It was after that incident that he had taken Sherlock under his wing. He couldn’t help (as an unknowing child) but feel like if he had been a bit sooner, he could have saved the baby. He didn’t know why that notion had stuck with him - for years - but it had. It had developed his weakness, the sentiment that made him vulnerable and overprotective when it came to his siblings. And, now that Sherrinford was back, he was not going to let the man predecease him again. He couldn’t deal with the stress. _Not that I can deal with the stress while he’s alive either…._

  
Gerald had the car ready and waiting at the morgue entrance and, very carefully, his brother’s sprawling form was lifted onto the back seat. Sherlock climbed in the front and he resumed his spot on the floor, keeping the wolf from sliding about as they drove back to Downing Street.


	38. Chapter 37: The Patient

He inhaled sharply, his nostrils flaring. His mouth felt like he had ingested an entire roll of gauze. Or a pail of sand. His tongue was so dry, he didn’t want to pull it back into his mouth. His head was pounding and weighed at least a ton, if not more. He slowly retracted what he assumed to be his tongue, his jaws creaking closed.

  
Something warm, comforting, and smelling distinctly of forest,various chemicals, and take-away, pressed against his back and nuzzled his ears. He grunted, unable to do much else. While his head felt heavy, his body was weightless, almost as if it didn’t exist at all.

  
“Welcome back to the land of the living,” the soft voice of Mycroft Holmes drew his attention, his ears swiveling and pulling on his head. He opened his eyes, displeased to find that his vision was fuzzy. _I’ve been drugged._ He groaned again, the sound coming out as a faint whimper. Sherlock’s tongue laved at the top of his head in an oddly comforting sensation. He hadn’t been bathed by a tongue since before he was sent to boarding school. It was…nice. He sighed, leaning back into the other man’s heat.

  
“You gave us quite the scare, Sherrinford,” Mycroft stated, somewhere in the swirl of dull color before him. “First, you Shift publicly. Second, you get yourself arrest and animal tested, no doubt. And finally, as we’re leaving the holding cell, you get yourself shot. When you’re verbal again, we’re going to have a very long conversation.”

  
He tried to nod but his head was so heavy, he couldn’t move it. A knowing hand rested on his side, well away from his injury, feeling his ribcage rise and fall. “Get better first. Bedrest for the next couple of days, according to the good Dr. Watson. Sherlock will get anything you need and Molly will bring Thomas in a little later. He’s fussy.”

  
The snort that flew from his nose hurt and he instantly regretted it. The action heaved his chest in an awkward way and sent a sharp pain through his shoulder. He whimpered and tried to shift his right foreleg, only to have it pull on his shoulder, the pain searing through again. Sherlock nipped at his ear, reprimanding him for moving. _John must have created a quasi-sling._ He released a small growl but didn’t try to move that foreleg again. _Lesson learned_.

  
The blur that was Mycroft rose and, after another gentle pat, left. His footsteps fell heavily on the wooden floor before the opening and closing of the door faded their tread from his ears. His remaining brother rumbled low in his chest and began bathing him again. With a heavy sigh, already bored of his predicament and really needing to speak with his siblings (and Imogen), he closed his bleary eyes and drifted off the sleep.

  
He awoke to the sound of a fussy infant, his voice shrill and needy. His sight had blessedly returned and he used the sense to follow Molly’s journey around his sickbed and to his side. Thomas was held in her arms, thrashing about unhappily in his blankets. The woman, seeing that he was awake, smiled at him, her eyes wide and terrified. “He’s been upset all day. I really don’t know why.”

  
He raised his head with a whine. He knew why the little guy was unhappy. _He’s ready for his first shift but needs some help_. If he had had lips, he would have smiled. It was a proud moment, a true welcome into the Pack, and he was the only one that realized it.   
He gestured, as best he was able, with his head, asking his sister-in-law to place the babe at his side. His scent, mingled with Sherlock’s, and their closeness should push him into his other form.

  
The woman, blessedly ( _Or desperately_ ), understood the gesture and tenderly placed the finicky child against his belly. It was far enough away from his injury that Thomas shouldn’t injure him further but close enough that he could feel and hear his heartbeat. Unable to bend as agilely as he had wanted to, he draped his tail over the fussy babe and rumbled in his chest as Sherlock shifted to rest his head over his flank, nosing at the Pup.

  
Thomas quieted, making Molly breathe and audible sigh of relief. “How did you…? Never mind, never mind…Just keep doing whatever you’re do…” She stopped, gasping as the baby began to quiver.

  
His rumble deepened. Sherlock grabbed the blanket, tugging it away from the shifting limbs.

  
“Oh my God,” Molly breathed before rising, her eyes stuck on her newborn. She yelled, “Mycroft! He’s SHIFTING! OUR LITTLE THOMAS! HE’S _SHIFTING_!”

  
Her smile, bright and proud, wide, teary yet joyful eyes fixed on the newborn, made him glad to have the woman as part of his Pack. Her acceptance of her child brought him hope.

  
Mycroft’s heavy steps raced up the stairs and down the hall. The man, severely out of shape, came panting into the room, Benedict held securely to his heaving chest. “Have I missed it?”

  
“No,” Molly replied, frantically gesturing him over, “It’s just started!”

  
Thomas continued to quiver, his hand thwacking into his abdomen. Slowly, the boy’s fists and curled toes began to change, pinky toes and thumbs retreating. Pads, soft and pink, erupted as the rest of his bones in his arms and legs broke and remade themselves. The rest of the Shift went quickly, the boy’s quivering turning into an all-out shake, twisting his chest and spine into a lupine shape. His face reconstructed and his tail unfurled, as his body’s velvety puppy fur grew, a well-shaded brown with a hint of ginger smatterings through it.

  
Once the Pup quieted, Sherlock snuffled the little ears and back before lapping at his muzzle, welcoming him into their Pack. He carefully, and painfully, stretched his head back to snuffle and lick at Thomas’ pink, flared nose.

  
Blind, his blue eyes closed in this form, the little one stumbled, gathering his stubby legs beneath him. The baby fell, tripping over his new mobility, into his stomach. He grunted but made no other complaint. The little one would need his closeness in his vulnerable state.

  
“He’s so precious,” Molly breathed, tears brimming in her eyes. “I love him so much, Myc.”

  
“We all do,” the Iceman stated, smiling. “He is quite a spunky little thing.”

  
The mother reached forward, her hand shaking. “May I…?”

  
Sherlock nodded, as he rumbled, the Pup nuzzling into his stomach fur.

  
Molly tenderly stroked Thomas’ head. The little one yipped once, his nose working furiously in his mother’s direction. “So soft,” the mortician murmured, “Hello Thomas. Mummy and Daddy are right here! Feel him, Myc. It’s amazing.”

  
The older man obeyed, his own fingers trembling a bit. His grip tightened on his swaddled baby, holding him tighter against his chest as he leaned forward slowly. _Nervous, Brother?_ he mused, unable to remember a time when Mycroft was this vulnerable. He understood, of course. This first Shift was so crucial to both the parents and the Pup: It was where relationships were solidified or demolished. Unlike with his own parents, Thomas’ loved him as he was. Mycroft’s mouth opened as his fingers traced the Pup’s muzzle. The mouth opened and a tiny tongue escaped, lapping at the statesman’s index finger. “Hello, Precious Boy,” the older man breathed, an awed expression on his face. It melted his heart and he allowed himself a brief, lupine smile.  
_ _ _ _ _

  
He must have fallen asleep during Molly and Mycroft’s fawning over their newborn’s achievements, because the next thing he remembered was waking to find a more verbal Sherlock seated on the chair beside his bed. The man’s face was comfortably blank, but he had allowed a small twitch of a smile to play at the corner of his mouth. A ball of lightly-furred Pup snoozed beside him, pressed against his stomach, pink nose twitching.

  
“I’ve always had a soft-spot for dogs,” the low baritone murmured, his mercurial eyes focused on the baby with a gentle affection. “Thomas has made me realize it again.”

  
Sherrinford cocked an eyebrow. His Alpha sibling knew as well as he did that Thomas, and any of the Lupus sapiens, were not dogs. They were wild animals with refined, human logic.

  
“To clarify: As painful as this is for you, I was five when you did this in front of our parents.” The man gestured to their napping nephew, an eyebrow cocking pointedly. “I had no idea, really, that Mother and Father had tried to make up for giving you up by getting a dog but I got the one thing that I really needed: a companion. It is not unimaginable that I was a rather solitary child.” A small, crooked smile twisted a corner of his mouth. “That Irish Setter helped me interact with the world around me in a new and wonderful way. Seeing Thomas like this, so…innocent, reminds me of my dog. And it reminds me of how lucky our family is to have you back with us.”

  
He rolled his eyes at the sentiment, not wanting to scoff again and upset his shoulder. The other man’s smile turned into a smirk. “I know. Sentiment.” His mercurial eyes flickered back to the Pup who had started to kick his legs a bit, as if he were chasing a squirrel. “The Pups bring it out. Call it Alpha instinct.” The older man paused, fixing him in his now steely gaze. “Don’t get used to it.”

  
He grinned, knowing that the action was slightly terrifying, but also needing to express his joy some how. Against all odds, he had ( _quite luckily_ ) found a place in the world with people who loved him, and those like him, and accepted him regardless of his oddities.

  
Never one for simple niceties, his elder sibling simply gave him a small nod, his head tilting to the right as his hand ruffled some of the fur on the top of his head. “Get some rest, Sherrinford. John thinks you’ll be up in a couple of days. We heal fast but you simply heal faster. Maybe, when this is over, I could get some blood? Saliva? For educational purposes, of course.”

  
He nodded, knowing that his brother was well-meaning. He also knew that he was lucky to have the genetics that he did. He couldn’t imagine wasting so much time sitting around for bones to heal.  
_ _ _ _ _

  
Three days later, he shivered back into his human shape under the watchful eye of John Watson. He hissed, feeling the final fusing of his almost healed collarbone. Tipping his head to the left, exposing his neck, he rolled his shoulder, testing it. It pulled a bit, the muscles reminding him of their lack of use for the last few days, but, ultimately, felt the same as ever.

  
“How are we feeling?” the doctor asked, a tight-lipped smile on his face, the calm but constantly watching Thomas in his arms.  
“Like I’ve been shot,” he growled, cocking an eyebrow. “Again.”

  
His fingers played with the new scar. It fell on his right shoulder, across from the one that the doctor had given him beside his left shoulder blade and diagonally from the one given to him by Lestrade below his ribcage. He had seen many things leave scars on his Papa’s body - mistletoe and wolfsbane-laced weapons mostly - but he had never thought that simple bullet wounds would remain. Yet, remain they did. “Honestly, fine, John. Thank you for your attentive care.”

  
The man, palpitating his upper torso and rotator cuff before offering the newborn his finger to hold, muttered, “Couldn’t leave you to bleed out. Evelyn would never forgive me if I let her favorite uncle die on my watch.” The older man chuckled, his teeth flashing briefly before his lips covered them again.

  
“Come on, John. Admit it - you like me.” Sherrinford did not hide his broad smile, his teeth slipping out momentarily as he chuckled.  
The older man chuckled as well, the action making the baby protest.

  
“How is she?” the Wolf asked, the realization that the teen was probably worried sick about him sinking in. His Shift, incarceration, and assassination attempt had, no doubt, made the news. And Evelyn was incredibly preceptive and attentive, even if her fathers had shielded her. _And she had been so upset before the Parliamentary hearings had even begun…_

“She’s been by to visit but you’ve always been asleep.”

  
“Sleeping means that my body is recovering,” he replied, knowing that the doctor knew that. “But I am terribly sorry that I missed her. She is my favorite niece, after all.”

  
The doctor snorted. “She knows. And besides being worried sick, Evy’s alright. She’s keeping up with her schoolwork and trying not to drive Sherlock and his anal ‘case mindset’ crazy.” The greying man rolled his eyes. “He came home after the second day and locked himself into 221B. I don’t even know if he’s eaten anything since.”

  
“He has,” he replied, rising from the bed to gather a pair of cotton pajama trunks and a ratty t-shirt from his closet. “He’d have to. I’m absolutely famished and I’ve simply been lying in bed for the last five days.”

  
“You have the metabolism of a college student,” his quasi-brother-in-law stated, trying to sound exasperated instead of jealous without succeeding in the slightest.

  
The baby began to whimper and shiver, his face screwing up unhappily. His form twisted, replaced by his considerably more helpless body. The doctor looked a bit out of his league, his face surprised. “Oh, hello!”

  
“Could I hold him?” the natural born Wolf asked softly, extending his hands, “I haven’t been able to yet.”

  
The older man gently handed his wriggling parcel over, Thomas’ pink nose flaring and snuffling. “He’s all yours,” John murmured, smiling, “I’ve got to call Evy anyway, let her know that her favorite uncle’s doing just fine.”

  
With another tight-lipped smile, the doctor slipped from his bedroom. He watched the shorter man go, realizing that John Watson was one of the strongest men that he knew, even if he wasn’t lauded for it. He had to be to keep up with the Holmes’. The Pup wriggled against his chest, readjusting his head so that he could listen to his slow, steady heartbeat. “Your Uncle John’s quite remarkable, Thomas,” he murmured, stroking the top of the fuzzy head with one of his thumbs, realizing how tiny his nephew truly was, “Don’t let me or anyone else forget that.”


	39. Chapter 38: The Detective and His Daughter

“You're on speaker, Mycroft,” he groaned, not really understanding why his bother couldn’t simply come. _On second thought: Better to have him over the phone. Don’t want his stench all over my flat. Stupid Pups. Ridiculous needs of the children. Stupid instincts._ He folded his hands beneath his chin, closing his eyes to focus his thoughts and run through everything in his Mind Palace again, in case he had missed something. _Not likely._

  
“Sherrinford’s here, too,” his elder sibling droned, “Because Brother Dearest has some new information that he can share now that he’s verbal again.”

  
Sherlock held in a snort knowing that Sherrinford was definitely gritting his teeth and holding in a growl. “I thought _I_ was Brother Dearest,” he grumbled before refocusing. “There’s a Hunter out there who has killed two Lupus sapiens without retribution and, no doubt, just tried to kill my younger brother in his moment of stupidity-”

  
He heard the growl then; his brother was obviously feeling defensive. Sherrinford might have acted like an idiot, but he had done it to protect their Pack and the broader Wolf community. He didn’t grace the growl with a response. “You’d better have something for me, Sherrinford, or I’m hanging up. I have work I have to do. It’s time to start winning the game instead of simply playing it.”

  
“There is something that you’re going to want to hear,” the Wolf stated, the sound of his chair scraping closer to the phone coming across the line. “The murders are definitely being carried out by Hunters and I am the next target.”

  
His eyes narrowed. “That’s a bold assumption. I know that you’ve put yourself out there as the face of the movement but there’s no guarantee that you’re the next target.”

  
“I was shot leaving my short stay in the finest penitentiary Britain has to offer - which I’m sure made international news, along with my release from hospital - so I can assure you that I am at least on their radar. More importantly, I know I am their next target because my killer came to visit me while I was incarcerated.”

  
The statement made him freeze, an eyebrow cocking with interest. “Oh? Is it a man, five foot nine who smokes cheap cigarettes and wears a leather jacket?”

  
“No,” the other man replied, a hint of laughter in his voice ( _I fail to find the humor in this_ ), “It’s Imogen.”

  
“I _knew_ there was something wrong with that woman,” Mycroft sounded a bit smug, no doubt crossing his arms over his chest.

  
“There is _nothing_ wrong with her,” his younger sibling shot back defensively, “Her family is the leading group of Hunters in the U.K. She distanced herself years ago but, due to her closeness to me, and my recent act of quote ‘stupidity,’ they’ve told her to take me out.”

  
“I fail to see how this is good news,” the British government stated, “We can’t arrest her for a crime that she hasn’t committed yet.”

  
“Of course not!” the detective inserted quickly, “She’s the key to stopping this hate crime. That is, of course, if she is still on our side…”

  
“She is,” Sherrinford stated confidently, “She and I spoke on the phone this morning and have come to an agreement and we’ve begun to create a plan to take down her family and to take down Kensington. He’s the patriarch and, as a government official, has access to my patients’ files.”

  
“He ordered your hit,” the statesman reasoned, his nemesis’ need to create holding centers and his prompt action against Sherrinford’s plea making more sense, puzzle pieces flying into place.

  
“He gave my hit to Imogen. And, as you see, I’m still here!”

  
“ _She’s_ the one that shot you!” Mycroft’s voice was no longer calm. “We should put her on payroll.” _How is that a surprise? It was obviously a hit carried out by one that didn’t want him dead. It was too accurate to be a ‘lucky miss’. Mycroft’s lost his touch._ Sherrinford was positively snarling, not pleased with their older sibling’s statement.

  
“And a broken collarbone was much better than a dead Wolf,” the detective replied, “And now, she looks like she tried. When will the ‘real’ hit occur?”

  
“After the Moon. She understands that I can’t leave my patients at this point in time and she knows about the committee coming to Baskerville and how I’ll need to make at least an appearance. We all know that there is going to be tight security that evening. You may not want to be at Baskerville this Moon, Sherlock.”

  
_Who says I want to be in that place at all?_ he mused, flinching at the thought of it being absolutely overrun by suits.

  
His younger brother continued, “Besides, her mother has asked for my pelt. She’ll only attack me when I’m in that form.”

  
“But what’s the plan?” He leaned closer to the receiver, intrigued. Imogen Crowley had proven to be a lot more interesting than he though she’d be at their single, brief meeting. _A worthy mate for my Beta_ , he smiled crookedly. _An Alpha in his own right_.

  
“In order to get a good pelt, she’ll need to strangle me somehow. So, I’m going to meet her family for dinner, make an excuse to Shift, and she’ll pretend to kill me. Wire my collar and, as we fake my death, move in. Sherlock or Eddington could find our killer and can put a hate group away for a long time.”

  
Silence fell over the line. “A lot rests on Imogen. Are you sure that you trust her? She could be playing you?” Mycroft murmured, being a bit more sensitive than he would have been if it was anyone but Sherrinford. _He has a soft spot for Sherrinford._

  
“She’s not,” he replied, “The woman is not that great of an actress and she doesn’t smell like a threat.”

  
“And she’s my Mate,” Sherrinford breathed. He could hear the man’s devotion and commitment to the woman in that statement. “We’ve pledged ourselves to each other. She accepts me as I am, and she loves me. As I love her.”

  
“I hope your feelings are well-founded, Sherrinford,” Mycroft muttered, earning him a soft snarl.

  
“They are.”

  
“I’m hanging up now,” he stated, moving to do just that, “I don’t need to tell you to lay low, do I Sherrinford?”

  
“No, _Alpha_ ,” the younger man gritted, “We’ll keep you updated.”

  
“Good.”

  
His finger slid the conversation to an end, releasing a heavy sigh as he did so. His eyes drifted from the device to his wall of clippings and string. _All roads lead to Kensington and the Hunters_. He grinned, his teeth flashing. His brother had just confirmed his theory, though he’d never admit that Imogen Crowley was a surprise. There was a plan in motion and now they had to wait a couple of weeks to enact it.   
_ _ _ _ _

  
Her adoptive father, her dad’s partner, was in a surprisingly good mood; the door to 221B was open as she passed it on the way to 221C. _It must be because Uncle Ford’s ok. Dad said that he Shifted back today when he texted me at lunch_. She grinned, her attention straying from her schoolwork to think about visiting her favorite uncle tomorrow. She’d really missed him since he’d moved out to care for Thomas. There were times when he was the only person she could really talk to, it seemed. He always seemed to understand her and now, despite her parents and Mrs. Hudson, she felt alone.

  
“Evy,” her father said, sitting down opposite her, “What’s going on, Angel?”

  
“Nothing,” she murmured, diverting her daydreaming gaze from a spot on the wall to her maths homework, “Just thinking of Uncle Ford.”

  
“He does miss you, Evelyn,” the grey-haired man smiled, his teeth flashing. She briefly wondered what her other father and uncle would look like if they smiled with their teeth showing. _They probably don’t even realize they’re doing it…Wolf instincts are weird,_ she thought, her mouth twisting a bit. Her father continued, “I saw Thomas Shift today. Apparently, he’s been doing it constantly since Sherrinford was injured.” The man chuckled. “He’s the cutest Pup I’ve ever seen.”

  
She smiled, allowing her teeth to be exposed. “I’d love to see him.”

  
“If you visit Uncle Sherrinford after school tomorrow, I’m sure you will. We’re getting closer to the Moon, so he’ll be trying to get more comfortable on four legs. He is a newborn, after all. Newborn Pups are blind, you know.”

  
“Even though he can see as a human?” she asked, her eyes widening, fascinated.

  
“Yes, Angel,” he replied before patting the table and rising to begin dinner. “I’m sure that your uncle can tell you all about it tomorrow.”

  
“Her uncle’s going to do what?” Sherlock asked, striding into their flat in his pajamas and blue silk dressing gown, his fingers flashing over his mobile’s keyboard.

  
“Uncle Ford’s going to tell me about being a Pup!” she practically exclaimed, beyond excited at the prospect.

  
The younger man cocked an eyebrow, shooting her a quick glance. “Well, he would be the one to ask. Better do it sooner rather than later, though. My younger brother may have been born a Wolf but he lacks the instinct for self-preservation.”

  
Her father scowled, giving his Mate a sharp, reprimanding look.

  
“What do you mean?” she asked, suddenly worried, her eyes darting back and forth between her two parents trying to decipher their silent conversation of subtle eye shifts and small muscle twitches.

  
“Nothing, Evelyn,” Sherlock stated, his eyes fixed on her father, his head slowly tilting to the left. “Your uncle simply does what he wants, not thinking about the consequences. That is why, Darling, you should always think before you act.”

 

  
She rolled her eyes, turning them down to her homework. _That’s something that obviously runs in our family and you’re not telling the whole truth, either_. “Yes, of course, Sherlock.”

  
The man, as if sensing her confusion, doubt, and hurt, stopped his scrolling on his mobile to press a kiss to the crown of her head, inhaling her scent. She leaned into the sensation, used to it and the comfort that it brought. “Will you get furry later?” she murmured, wanting a snuggle badly.

  
“I’m sure that could be arranged, Evy,” her father stated from the stove, giving her adoptive father a look. She beamed, glad to have her ‘dog,’ though she’d never tell her father that. _I am really lucky_ , she thought, looking around the small kitchen. Despite their oddities, her family was truly perfect.


	40. Chapter 39: The Favorite Uncle

He grinned broadly, his hands cradling the Pup to his chest as he reclined on the sofa in his eldest brother’s front sitting room. Thomas, after a bit of whining and a bit of nipping (which he reprimanded with some harsh growls), was falling into a bottle induced food coma, his human nostrils flaring and wriggling adorably. He couldn’t help but smile at the thought that one day, maybe in the not-so-distant future, he could be holding his own Pup. The little one was just dozing off when the front door opened and shut, bringing a wash of scents with it. His smile widened, the perfume of violets, vanilla, and fresh-cut grass wafting through the stagnant air. “Evy,” he breathed, turning his head to meet his niece’s beaming face through the foyer.

  
“Uncle Ford!” she said, rushing forward after kicking her shoes off in the entryway. “You look so much better!” She closed the distance as he stood, taking her into his free arm and pressing his nose into her wavy hair.

  
The action unsettled the Pup, who squawked indignantly before snuggling closer. “I am feeling much better,” he replied, pulling back and taking a seat again on the couch. “And I am so glad that you’ve come while I’m awake. I’ve missed you.”

  
Evelyn drew closer, plopping herself down next to him, her eyes shining brightly. “I was hoping to learn more about the Wolves,” she murmured, noting the baby resting on his chest. “After all, there are so many of them in our family - I want to know all about them!” The teen paused, leaning into his shoulder. “Besides, if I know more, I can help! I can tell everyone about how awesome you are! And Ms. Crowley can, too!”

  
He smiled, knowing exactly why the teacher didn’t mind that he was what he was and why she’d want to know more. He also knew that he was lucky that she wasn’t planning on actually taking him out. She was his Mate, he could feel it in his bones. “I’m a very lucky man,” he murmured, “To have such a wonderful niece.”

  
Then, with a small shiver and a soft yelp, Thomas shifted, his legs getting tangled within the blanket that he had been swaddled in. Pulling at the blanket with a hand, Sherrinford loosened the Pup’s constraints, letting the surprisingly small being tumble out to land again on his t-shirt clad chest.

  
Thomas yipped again, his nose working overtime as Sherrinford petted him and helped him to wriggle into his warm side. Evy’s brow furrowed, no doubt noting that the pup’s eyes, blue in human form, were shut and his fur was short and grey flecked with patches of reddish brown and points of black despite his wispy, chestnut head of hair. “He’s blind,” she whispered, a hand stroking the soft, silky fur, making the baby shiver, nose working overtime. Sherrinford nodded, a small hum rumbling in his chest. “Like a real wolf pup.” He nodded again. Thomas shivered back into his human shape with a yawn, settling back into his uncle’s heated chest with a yawn.

  
“That’s incredible,” his favorite niece breathed, her hand brushing some of her cousin’s hair from his brow. Her sharp eyes snapped to meet his own. “Why Shift back and forth for less than two seconds?”

  
“He’s practicing, has been most of the week,” he murmured. “It’s strange to go from being unable to move about on one’s own to having legs to waddle around on. Of course, the eyesight of a newborn human is not particularly good but the loss of it is disorienting, nonetheless. Thomas is learning how to rely on his senses of touch and smell to propel him around.”

  
“I know it was a long time ago and that you were really little, but do you remember being a Pup?”

  
The question was an innocent one but it opened some old wounds. _A startlingly common occurrence these days_ , he noted. “I don’t remember too much, Darling. His eyes will open a bit before the time he’s old enough to create and keep memories.”

  
“How old will that be?” Evelyn asked, her eyes wide but focused on her cousin who had Shifted again, curling into a ball and drifting back to sleep.

  
“Around a year old, give or take a few months. Then he’ll be a real terror if he’s anything like me!” The statement made his oldest niece laugh, her giggles filling to room.

  
“He’s so cute,” the teen breathed, brushing some of her blonde hair behind an ear before stroking a finger over the Pup’s larger-than-life ears.

  
“That he is,” he agreed, meeting Evy’s smile with one of his largest tight-lipped grins.

  
“Do you think he’ll be lonely? He won’t have any other Wolves to play with.”

  
The concern felt by his Alpha’s daughter was touching. It made his wish that his issues with the Hunters would be resolved soon so that his nephew might have a playmate. “He won’t be entirely alone. I’ll play with him, I’m sure and he has his brothers and sister. And you!”

  
“But he won’t have a Wolf his age. Like you did…”

  
“I didn’t, Evy. I had my uncle and we moved around a lot because of…” _Don't mention the Hunters…_ “People finding out about us and making us leave town. Every once in a while, we’d stay with a Pack that had Pups and I would have playmates but then I was sent to boarding school when I was younger than you and I had to hide who and what I was.” He smiled softly. “I hope that, one day soon, Thomas and any other Pups that are born will not have to hide who and what they are like I did.”

  
The young woman leaned her head against his shoulder, sighing. “It’ll happen,” she breathed, “I know it will.”


	41. Chapter 40: The Alpha and Rebel Wolf

With the Moon upon them, he knew that he most certainly preferred to be away from the circus that Baskerville was bound to become even while he knew that his nephew would be in need of a sitter while his younger sibling played ring master. He gritted his teeth. Thinking about it set him on edge. Besides, if he spent the night at Baskerville, there was a chance that the rest of the Holmes family secret would be revealed. With a sigh, he grabbed his mobile from the pocket of his dressing gown and shot the natural born wolf a text.

  
I WILL REMAIN AT 221B FOR THE MOON. - SH

  
Mycroft would plan accordingly, as would Sherrinford. He preferred his anonymous silence on the subject of Lupus sapiens. It gave him the opportunity to think.

  
He dropped the device into his lap and shifted his laptop closer. He had spent the last several days scanning and compiling every bit of information that he could find about Kensington and his family of Hunters. In retrospect, everything was glaringly obvious. _I’m losing my touch_ , he reprimanded, allowing a brief wave of disappointment to roll down his spine. _Descended from early Germanic immigrants dating to the eleventh century, name of Silberson. Married into the royal family and was raised to dukedom by Richard II for ‘vanquishing the beasts’. A dead give away if I had thought to even look! Not to mention the estate used to house a menagerie and one duchess of Kensington was known for her rare fur mantles. He was obviously losing his touch in his old age. Or_ , he reasoned, calming his ego, _M_ _y secret has kept me wary and my usual informants at bay…_

  
His mobile buzzed, drawing his attention to the inevitable complaint text from Sherrinford. He’d have to find another babysitter for Thomas if he couldn’t escape the delegates and government officials that would be touring the facility.

  
WHAT ABOUT THOMAS?

  
The detective rolled his eyes at the text. _Obvious and predictable as ever, Brother_. He replied:

  
YOU WILL NO DOUBT FIND A SOLUTION. MOLLY COULD EVEN DO IT. - SH

  
After a brief pause, he received:

  
KEEP ME UPDATED AND BE SAFE.

  
He rolled his eyes again. _Says the lamb for slaughter…I am not the one that needs to be safe. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself and John and Evelyn and Mrs. Hudson besides!_

  
He rose, stalking to the fridge and pulling out a honey-roasted ham. He threw it on the counter and cut into it with gusto. The Moon was in a couple of days and his energy level and hunger were both rising. As he ate, chewing vigorously, he began to work out the semantics of the Moon. He would Shift for the night ( _Obviously_ ) but he would miss the open space of the park. His Mate would be frazzled and cranky, no doubt, driven there by his complete boredom and penchant for tearing around like a furred wrecking ball in the moonlight. _No trips to the park this Moon_ , he mused, _Too dangerous_. Evelyn and Mrs. Hudson would be cowering in fear by the time the Moon set with him stuck in a confined space and John complaining about it. _Somewhere there must be a bit of space I could run and be undetected…_

  
Pushing away from the table (two-thirds of which was covered by an experiment testing the fluids that he may (or may not) have collected off of his new nephews), he dropped his greasy plate into the sink and stalked to his room. A run was in order.  
_ _ _ _ _

  
As he stepped from the car onto the gravel drive, his lungs flooding with the fresh Oxfordshire air, he was glad that Mycroft had talked him into spending the Moon with their parents. Or at least at their home, seeing as he really didn’t plan on spending too much time with them. His father was fine. Very accepting of everything, actually. It was his mother that made things difficult. She had wanted the perfect little family and she had loved each and every one of them until her imperfect gene pool had thrown a wrench in with Sherrinford. With his younger brother back, his own circumstances, and the birth of a second Natural born Wolf in the Holmes line, she was handling things as gracefully as she could manage. Which was about as well as he handled boredom. Badly.

  
A cursory sniff of the air told him that the house staff had been dismissed in the morning, their steps leaving en masse from the front door for three days. The flowers were in varying stages of bloom, the gardener was getting lazy (and old) and simply couldn’t (or didn’t want to) keep up. There was a brace of rabbits nearby. He made a note of the direction for later - they’d make a great snack.

  
“Oh Wanda!” his father called from the opening front door, “The boys are here!”

  
The older man’s smiling face (teeth exposed), met their rather frazzled expressions. John, who’d insisted on coming, pulled his exasperation (probably due to the odd tension that rose between them when the Moon was this close) into a polite smile. “We’re so pleased that you’re here!” his father continued, grabbing their baggage in his age-spotted hands and rushing them both into the house.

  
John subconsciously shuffled a bit closer to his side even as he replied, “Thank you for letting us stay here, Timothy. It’s quite kind of you, considering everything that has been going on.”

  
“Anything for family,” the older man replied over his shoulder as he headed for the front stairs, “We’ve put you boys in Sherlock’s room , if that’s alright?”

  
“Fine,” he replied, his nostrils flaring and collecting all the scents of the various nooks and crannies of the old house. His mother, it seemed, had sequestered herself into the library, brushing through various books.

  
John looked like he was going to refute the placement of himself into his room but then thought better of it. He simply closed his mouth with a small snap and shot him a strange look. The detective pulled a bit closer to the older man until their hands brushed, needing the protective gesture and the comfort that his Mate’s scent brought this close to the Moon. He pressed his nose to the top of John’s head, inhaling his scent in order to comfort them both.

  
“Ah, here we are boys!” Timothy stated cheerfully, “Everything’s as you left it last, Sherlock.” He paused, his own heterochromic eyes, surrounded by wrinkles, flickered between the pair of them. “Don’t have too much fun, now. Dinner’s at seven.”

  
Thankfully, his father left them alone after that, a knowing twinkle in his eyes. His parents were over-protective, and had been since Sherrinford’s ‘death.’ It had only gotten worse since his own Turning; he could smell the worry in their loving scents along with something else. His father, at least, seemed pleased that he and John had found each other, and had created a rather unconventional life together. _Though the implications towards our sexual relations are unfounded_. He mentally chided his own instinct-driven hope for more in that department and slowly closed the door behind them with a heavy sigh. “We don’t need to stay here tonight. We could leave right now, simply lock ourselves into Baker Street.” He smiled, his lips closed as he look at his mate. The greying man was trembling slightly, his eyes wide. “If we left now, we’d make it before moonrise. Whatever you want to do, John.”

  
“I-I,” the doctor paused, releasing a shaky breath. “I like your parents, Sherlock. We’re here for you and your comfort. You’d tear Baker Street apart before the night was up and the parks aren’t nearly as safe as a private property.”

  
He shrugged, unzipping the small duffle that he’d packed and pulling out his rather small amount of clothing and toiletries. He did not plan on spending more time than necessary making conversation with the people that had raised him. A hand, warm and calloused, touched his shoulder tenderly. “We’ll go out tonight. After dinner, if you want,” John murmured, knowing how the memories made this house hard for him to live in it for long periods of time.

  
“Yes,” he replied.  
_ _ _ _ _

  
Dinner, as it always was when his mother was involved, was awkward. His father was chatty, as usual, pretending as if nothing had ever changed. His mother was quiet and equal parts ashamed and judgmental. John was trying his best as a conversationalist but could only talk so much about his days at the surgery and Evelyn’s schooling before his mother would interject something uncomfortable. _You’re a fine doctor, John, why stay at St. Bart’s doing grunt work? Why hasn’t Evy been put into a private school yet? She’s too bright for a public education._ Any time the subject was changed, his father would hijack the conversation, rambling about the weather and the vacation that he and his mother were planning on taking to Surrey in a couple of months. At least the old man seemed pleased to have his family ‘whole and hearty.’ The same couldn’t be said about his mother, with her tight, quivering lips and her hard, narrowed eyes over her forced smile.

  
“We’re going out tonight. We won’t be back until the morning, most likely. Just leave some clothes outside and we’ll shower and be on our best human behavior tomorrow.”

  
His mother’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s not necessary, Sherlock,” she stated. “Sleep here. We’ll leave the back door unlocked. Sherrinford was able to open in that…shape.”

  
“We don’t want to inconvenience you, Wanda,” John murmured.

  
“You’re _family_ ,” his father insisted, “You’ll never be an inconvenience.”

  
The other man looked up at him, his eyes widening with surprise. Despite being his Mate, their lack of a marriage certificate had kept the word ‘family’ from applying to John for years now. _It must be the rising fervor of legislation involving Wolves. They can’t afford to alienate my Pack, my chosen family, any more_.

  
“Fine,” he replied, “Leave the door unlocked and put the extra mattress by the door with some water. If we use it, wonderful. If not, don’t be upset.”

  
His mother smiled weakly, tears in her eyes. _Sentiment_. “Of course, darling. Whatever you’d like to do.”  
_ _ _ _ _

  
His clothing, a robe really, was stacked just inside the backdoor that led to the garden. Along the wall to the mudroom, across from the door that led to the garden and beside the door that led to the rest of the house, was the extra mattress, still smelling faintly of Sherrinford. He had brought his comforter from 221B, expecting it to become ruined in the out of doors, but was secretly glad he could leave it inside, folded on the mattress instead. Easier to clean that way. Completing the room were two large bowls of water and a package of bottled water and beef jerky for John. They were complemented by the pair of bowls just outside the door on the stone patio.

  
“Ready?” he asked, stretching in all his naked glory under the glow of the nearly full Moon and the backyard light. He grinned at his mate even as the man shifted on his feet nervously, his hands shoved into his pockets and his eyes trying to look anywhere but directly at him. A pink flush spread across the soldier’s cheeks as his heart thrummed and the scent of arousal perforated the air around him. Catching John’s rather blatant stare at his abdominals and his happy trail (and his impressive package beneath that), he grinned. “John.”

  
The man’s flush deepened to a lovely beet red and the doctor turned his back to him slightly, giving him a bit of privacy and showing his shapely rear. Despite his chosen outward indifference, his manhood twitched with interest at the sight.

  
“Yeah,” the older man sighed, his lips twitching into a small smile as he shot a quick glance back at him and his naked glory. The doctor flushed again, turning his back again before taking a seat on the grass. Cross legged, his chin coming to rest in his hand, his Mate murmured, “Stop showing off, Sherlock. I could use a cuddle right now…”

  
_A cuddle? Is that what we’re calling it? Or are you too embarrassed? John ‘I’m not gay!’ Watson…_ He shook his head, knowing that the doctor wanted him and it gave him a small rush of pleasure. With a gasp and a small whine, he gave in and began his Shift, his spine twisting awkwardly in sweet pain. His Shift rushed through him, granting him release. He stretched, enjoying the pop of his agile back, and then looked over to John. The man met him with a smile, hands outstretched to him. With a shake of his, admittedly, tangled coat, he trotted into those strong arms. Pressing his head into the other man’s chest tenderly, he licked the grey jumper beside him. _John?_ he whined, licking again after receiving a heavy sigh in response, _Mate?_

  
The other man sighed again, scratching his ears and making his tags jingle. “Thanks, Sherlock.” The fingers in his fur twitched as he pressed closer, practically pulling his rather massive body into the man’s lap. “I miss nights like this. When it’s just us and there’s nothing hanging over our heads.”

  
With a nuzzle, he rose. With a gentle rumble, he planted another nuzzle on the doctor’s chiseled jaw before licking it tenderly. John laughed, a beautiful sound in his ear, releasing his hold and allowing him to shake out his tangled fur. Ears pricked, tail wagging, he licked his chops into a smile. _Mate. Yours._

  
The older man smiled back and rose to stand. “All this open space, best not to waste it,” the soldier murmured, his fingers digging into his pocket and pulling out a new tennis ball. “Fetch?”

  
Sherlock rolled his mercurial eyes but still took off running after the tiny green object. The thrill of the chase, so ingrained into his DNA, overwhelmed any bit of his human logic and, at times when his human emotions complicated things and his thoughts raced unceasingly, he loved the ability to escape to something simpler. After several passes, the doctor laughing as he romped through the grass of his parents’ yard, he abandoned the ball for something a bit more tempting: the brace of rabbits.

  
He crept through the grass, his shaggy belly fur catching on the strands, his nose following the trails of the small rodents deeper into the night. Though he had originally caught the scent hours ago, the rabbits were still out, tasting bits of his mother’s prized garden. Catching the old, weak one was easy and he only had to bowl over one petunia to do it.

  
John’s proud smile greeted his return, mirroring his own grin around the bunny, his tail wagging slowly. “Snack time?” the older man asked, putting the ball back into his pocket and pulling out a granola bar. “Mind if I join you?”

  
He nipped at the man’s fingers playfully before tucking in to the steamy flesh. The delicious juices slid down his throat, the meat’s tang settling his rumbling stomach. The rabbit didn’t last long, and he eventually sat back on his haunches and licked his wolfish grin. He inhaled deeply before releasing his mirth to the sky, his howl echoing for miles. John joined him, his elegant neck catching the Moon’s beams, painting it silver.

  
Oddly, as their yowling filled the yard, he missed the added harmony of Sherrinford. The younger man was still a relatively new addition to their Pack, but he helped make it complete. Not that he’d ever tell Sherrinford that.

  
Breath spent, John approached him carefully, hand outstretched. “Sherlock?”

  
He nodded once, extending his neck to lick his mate’s cheek. _Mate_.

  
The older man chuckled deep in his chest, snuggling up to him and wrapping his arms about his neck. “Thanks for doing this, Sherlock. It’s really nice to forget about everything for a while.”

  
He nodded his agreement, chuffing happily. He had to agree with his Mate. He hated to be shut inside while the glorious Goddess of the Moon was hanging, full, in the sky. Being in the country gave him a bit of a reprieve from the drama that was going on. The stars danced above them and he flopped happily onto his back, his legs splayed awkwardly before he drew them into his chest. John joined him, laying beside him, his head leaning against his conical skull.

  
The Moon hung high in the sky, her beams painting the lawn almost white. Sherlock slowly rolled onto his stomach and hoisted himself from the grass. He yawned pointedly at his mate who suppressed a yawn of his own. “Bed?” the soldier asked quietly. He nodded, heading back through the garden to the back door. John, obviously surprised that he had chosen to take his parents up on the offer of the spare mattress, opened the door and let him in. With a protracted sigh, he moved to the soft surface and lay down, stretching into his human shape.

  
“Sherlock?” the doctor breathed, surprised at his decision.

  
“John,” he murmured, looking up at the man with a roil of emotions pouring through his body.

  
The older man, the silver of his hair catching the moonlight, closed the door behind him and lay beside him. Hesitantly, the man’s lips brushed his, setting his body on fire with desire. He deepened the kiss, pulling his mate down onto the mattress beside him.


	42. Chapter 41: The Pariah

Thomas was Shifting nervously in his arms, as if the little one could sense the importance of what was to come. In a few hours, he would be Shifting for a prolonged (By his young standards) period of time. He himself couldn’t remember his First Shift - he had been so young, after all. A literal newborn in his mother’s arms.

  
The babe whined rolling onto his belly as his human limbs became furry. “Shh, Darling,” he murmured, “Everything will be fine.” He stroked the soft Puppy fur along the boy’s spine. The whine settled into a low rumble as the blind Pup wriggled closer to his steady heartbeat and his warm chest.

  
A thinly-fingered hand joined his, teasing the small triangle ears. “How is he?” Molly asked, her face worried.

  
“He’s fine,” he replied with a tight-lipped smile. “A little nervous, but aren’t we all?”

  
The woman laughed, her greying head tossing back in mirth. “That is true. You need me to take him when Myc gets here?”

  
He shook his head, already feeling awful that he was leaving the Pup with his mother for most of the Moon due to his own stupidity. Playing the perfect house pet for the visiting politicians, lawmakers, and government bigwigs was punishment enough for his rash decision to move from the shadows. Needless to say, he was not looking forward to it in the slightest.

  
His eyes met those of his sister-in-law before he asked, “Are you all set? He should be pretty quiet for a couple of hours and he’ll sleep for a bit of the night. Hopefully, I’ll be back by the time he wakes enough to cause trouble.”

  
“You will be,” the mortuary reassured him with a smile, her hand still stroking the twitching ears of her child. “And we’ll be fine; he is my son, after all.”

  
“I know…I just…”

  
A hand gripped his arm tightly. “I know. You see Thomas as a little you and you don’t want him to live your life. I understand that but don’t put that responsibility on yourself, don’t do it. What you’re doing now - outside of the family - is already changing that. You’re helping your species, including Thomas and all of your patients. You’re changing their lives, Sherrinford.”

  
He flushed, not used to the complement. “I can only try.”

  
They sat in compatible silence for a while until Mycroft’s rather loud entrance, complete with door bang and umbrella being thrown into the holder. Benedict, napping soundly in his bassinet until then, shrieked at his abrupt wake-up call. His brother’s distress sent Thomas howling, the shrill sound making his heart leap within his chest and his Wolf scramble against his human facade, trying to escape and toss his own head back in a howl of his own.

  
“Apologies,” the British Government stated, automatically lifting his human son from his bed, “Daddy had a bad day at work, Darling. Shhhhhhhh. I’m sorry.” He bent and placed a tender kiss to his wife’s cheek, the woman’s fair skin flushing under his attentions.

  
“Why was it bad?” he queried, his nerves rising and he allowed a rather weak sounding rumble resonate through his chest, the little Pup lifted up to his nose to allow him to snuffle his scent glands before settling him over his heart. Thomas, enjoying the attention, quickly quieted even as Benedict continued to mewl and fuss.

  
“The list of people coming continues to grow, Brother,” the older man explained, his frustration evident. “We went from five to fifteen. Now it’s looking like almost thirty! That’s too many. There are Wolves that can’t handle that.”

  
“I don’t think _I_ can handle that,” he muttered, rolling his eyes with a huff. He had several patients that refused to reconcile their wolf with themselves. Their Wolves would not take well to being surrounded by thirty, potentially hostile, politicians. “We can pick and choose. Most of the problem cases will be in their enclosures where they can only be viewed from a distance or via CCTV.”

  
“One can only hope,” his brother breathed, his large hand rubbing his son’s back in small circles, finally quieting the whimpers.

  
“It’ll be fine,” Molly replied. “You Holmes’ have a way of things turning out just right in the end.”

  
“Anything you need to know?” Sherrinford asked, his gaze fixed on the man that would be his mouthpiece, “My files are on my desk, if you need refreshing about any of the patients.”

  
“I’ll browse it tonight. We can talk tomorrow if I have any questions.”

  
He nodded, his eyes flickering to the window as the nearly Full Moon rose in the glass. Thomas shivered with a small, sharp yip, his form solidifying for the next two days. “And that’s that,” he breathed, looking up from the slightly confused Pup to his family. “I’ll join him, then, shall I?”

  
Gently, he handed the furry twin to his sister-in-law and moved off deeper into their apartment. He found Mycroft’s empty study and closed the door to a sliver. Stripping, he folded his clothing and placed it on a wooden chair in the corner, where it would be out of the way. With a prolonged sigh, he called the Wolf and Shifted, almost purring at the sweet release. His paws sunk into the rich carpet, the fibers tickling his toes. Gripping it a bit, his nails biting into the pattern, he shook out his coat and headed to the door.

  
His padded feet took him down the hall, his tail swishing as his claws scraped against the well-worn wood. Once he reached the end of the hallway, he grinned at the sight before him. Stretching, his paws skidding a bit on the hardwood, he made his way back to the bassinet. His eldest brother was sitting beside it, his cool demeanor converted into a small, tender smile as his hand rose and fell with the motion of his sons’ chests. Smiling a bit to himself, he lay beside the basket, body curling about it protectively.

  
“Molly’s gone to bed and I’ll be right behind her. Still determined to take the night shift?” the Government asked, his eyes carrying a tired glint in their depths.

  
Yawning, he nodded and let his head fall to his front paws. Listening to his brother’s retreat, he thought, _Might as well get sleep now…who knows what tomorrow will bring._


	43. Chapter 42: The Wolf-Man

The children predictably woke every two to two and a half hours in the night. Shifting back and forth presented him with a slight problem that was quickly corrected, the blanket on the back of one of Molly’s well-worn sofas covering his modesty in case the cries woke his sibling and his sister-in-law. They didn’t (thankfully), but he vowed to buy and bring a robe everywhere after tripping over the carpet, warmed bottles sloshing droplets onto his exposed arms and chest. The smell of breast milk was not among his favorites but it clung to him for the rest of the evening, even after Shifting twice after the incident.

  
Regardless, he was glad to hear heavy footsteps mingled with the whimpers of the babies around six the following morning. He was tired and, knowing the importance of the day, could frankly use a nap. His patients, having been alerted to the important guests that they would be receiving that evening, would, without doubt, be arriving early. _I wonder if any of them will Shift early_ , he pondered, giving his head a shake as Molly stumbled into view.

  
“‘Mornin’,” she mumbled, as articulate as ever before her first cup of coffee, “Y’wanna go t’ bed?”

  
He gave her a nod and, licking her wrist’s pulse point as he passed, made his way into the depths of the flat. There was a door about halfway down the hallway that was slightly ajar. It smelled a bit of denim and faintly of cotton, telling him that it belonged to his eldest nephew, Nathaniel. A deeper sniff revealed that the room hadn’t been occupied in a few months. Deciding that it was as good a room as any, he snaked through the gap between the door and the jam. He stretched upwards into a Shift, cracking his back and limbering his tense shoulders, and closed the door behind him. The bed beckoned and he obligingly pulled the comforter down and crawled in. Sleep came quickly, as it usually did, and he settled willingly into it’s clutches for a time.

  
He woke when the sun hit him, stretching in through the window and across the navy sheets. He stretched again, enjoying the slide of the cotton against his skin before he rolled from the bed. His nephew’s alarm clock told him that it was midmorning. Only 10:38. _Not bad_ , he shrugged before opening the door a sliver. The hallway was clear and the babies were babbling, probably happily in their parents’ arms. Taking the opportunity to escape to Mycroft’s office and his waiting pile of clothing, he slid into the hall and tiptoed down it into his brother’s sanctuary. A quick sniff told him that it was empty and he slipped inside, his tail pressed against the crack of his bottom to fend off the the slight chill that clung to the air.

  
Everything was as he had left it. His clothes were still folded neatly on the chair in the corner, his shoes pushed between the legs. He quickly dressed, not knowing when his eldest brother would wish to return to his office to refamiliarize himself with the patients he’d be speaking about this evening. He had no interruptions and was able to slip back into the hallway to search for food.

  
“Good Morning!” Molly said, Benedict being burped on her shoulder as Mycroft eyed Thomas speculatively. “Hungry?”

  
“Famished,” he replied, his eyes still on his brother who had moved the Pup to his shoulder and was patting his back tentatively. “You don’t need to burp him in that form, you know. He can digest everything just fine.”

  
Eyebrow cocking, the British Government slowly lowered the Pup back down to rest against his chest, head over his heart.

  
Smirking, and holding in a snort, he padded to the fridge and pulled out a carton of eggs along with a few slices of ham.

“How are you today?” Molly asked, her aroma taking on a worried undertone.

  
“Frankly, I’m a bit worried and nervous…I mean, my secret is out and there will, not likely, be an attack on my life today, but I fear that my patients are not ready for this. And, besides that, I think that they will feel betrayed that I hid my own status from them as they struggled with their conditions.”

  
The eggs and bacon crackled happily on the stove, so he cut a thick slice of bread and shoved it into the toaster before turning to face his little family. “Am I over thinking this?”

  
Molly’s sad smile was enough of an answer even before she spoke softly. “I think that you’re being reasonable, Sherrinford. There will always be people who will be angry at you for hiding who you are, but there will be others that will be even happier to have someone with the status and power of your family and the knowledge afforded you on their side. Understanding who they are and what they go through. Someone who is fighting for them.”

  
Mycroft, stoic features in place, gave him a single nod before setting Thomas into the playpen where he could toddle about without getting into trouble. The little one promptly walked into the mesh wall of the pen and fell onto his bottom with a sharp yip and a bounce. He snorted, shaking his head, so glad that he couldn’t remember being that small. His brother sent him a dark glare the quickly melted into a small, amused smile. “Someone has to fight for us,” he murmured, still smiling. His nephew would grow up with a family that loved him as he was, even if he was ostracized for it. He could be the martyr so long as the future was brighter for Thomas and those that followed.

  
He plated his breakfast and took a seat at the kitchen table to begin what was inevitably going to be a very long day. _Does a four hour nap constitute now as a new day or has this day not ended?_ “I’ll meet with the patients as they arrive, hopefully put out a few fires, and get them all settled before the politicians show up,” he stated around his mouthful of ham. “Will you be present, Mycroft?”

  
“I believe that having me there, as Government liaison, would be prudent,” the man stated, reaching down to nudge his son away from the playpen wall, rubbing small circles between his shoulder blades with a finger. “Unless you feel like my presence will lead to further issues…?”

  
He shook his head, his mouth occupied by his breakfast. Swallowing, he added, “You should be there. You’re handling this evening, after all, and you should be aware of the faces that go with the names.”

  
The gingery eyebrow cocked. “You realize that their faces will look quite different when I am discussing them with the visiting contingent of politicians.”

  
He smiled brightly. “It’s time that you learned that Wolves have characteristics that are retained, regardless of the form, Brother. Namely, their eyes-”

  
“Yes, I know-”

  
“Then pay attention to their hair color and eyes and, for the most part, their personalities, you’ll be fine,” he beamed, placing his empty plate in the sink. “Shall we?”

  
Not waiting, knowing that the usually overbearing Mycroft, would follow, he left the flat and made his way down the quiet halls. Making a quick stop at his office to grab his notes, which his shoved into his brother’s waiting hands, he made his way to the central courtyard. The open space was large enough to hold all the Wolves in one spot before they dispersed about the campus for their Shifts.

  
He was a bit surprised to find several Wolves with their loved ones already gathered there. _It’s not even noon. Nadia must be sending them down_ , he mused, smiling softly at the thought. His secretary was a wonderful woman who truly cared about the Lupus sapiens. It helped that her brother was one of St. Pierre’s, and it was the main reason for applying to be his secretary. The man in question, David Chapman, was setting up chairs with a couple of members of his adopted Pack.

  
As he entered, the men there stopped and turned, nostrils flaring. Several pairs of eyes narrowed at him. He smiled, lips closed, and gave a small wave, “Hello, Gentlemen.”

  
A rumble, weak, human growls, erupted. A thrill of terror raced through him and he froze. The hair on the back of his neck rose and he fought back the growl that threatened to overflow his bounds. Mycroft’s hand slapped him on the shoulder, snapping him back to reality. He inhaled shakily. “Thanks.”

  
“It’ll be fine,” the British government murmured, steering him away from the entrance. “Let’s go over these files.”

  
He spent the next three and a half hours listening to the distant mutterings and growls of his patients while talking about each one of them with his eldest sibling. He felt as if the hair on the back of his neck would ever lay flat again but he soldiered on. His people, after all, needed protection even if they didn’t accept him as he was.

  
“It’s time,” Mycroft murmured as his eyes flashed up from the final file to the crowd assembled behind his back. He inhaled slowly, held his breath for a few seconds, and exhaled.

  
“Is it bad that I am more nervous now than I was when I Shifted in front of Parliament?” he asked, laughing nervously as he stood and smoothed his suit. His hand stopped over the bump in his shirt, his fingers closing around it nervously. As an afterthought, he pulled the lump from beneath his shirt and let his tags hang over his tie. He was done hiding.

  
Gathering his courage and tapping into his inner Alpha, Sherrinford Holmes, Natural Born Wolf, stood before his patients and fellow Lupus sapiens. Some smiled, teeth sheathed. Others growled, teeth flashing. He raised his hands in part surrender as well as a means to quiet the men and their assembled family and friends that rode out the Moon with them.

  
“I would like to first apologize to you all. I have not been honest with you about myself and of all the people who should know about my status, you should have learned it first. It is not that I did not want you to know - I simply felt that my job was to help you become more comfortable in your own skin, as I am in mine. When the government tried to categories us as animals instead of the men that we are, I knew that I needed to use not just my expertise but my own life as an example to prove to them that we are people and we are deserving of every right and privilege of full British citizens. I was done hiding to protect myself and my family because being a coward was going to see me exposed in a way that I knew would only harm myself and all of you. Because I decided to act, to reveal exactly who I am, I fixed the government’s eye on us and what we do here at Baskerville and other centers like it. Tonight, the government is sending representatives to observe us on our ‘least human’ night.”

  
A small uproar raced through the listening Wolves, fear filtering through their scent. He raised his hands again, this time as a means to silence them. “I will be with them all night, as will Mycroft Holmes, our main advocate in the government. If you do not wish to be observed, I suggest that you Shift and exit into your enclosures prior to sundown. They will be making the rounds shortly after that. I am hoping that you will join me in welcoming them and showing them that we are _people_. No matter how many legs we happen to have at the time.”

  
He paused, his gaze scanning the crowd. Mycroft gave him a small nod. Some of his patients seemed to be as supportive and hopeful for the night. Others still looked pissed off at him while the rank stench of fear still clung to the air. With his own hint of hope, he concluded, “Regardless of what happens tonight, I will continue to be here to support you and I look forward, as always, to our chats tomorrow. Let’s go and have a great night. Enjoy the Moon and do not be afraid to _be yourself_.”

  
He took a step back, a hand fiddling a bit with his exposed tags. His confidence dimmed slightly as the crowd shifted in their seats. Sean, Elizabeth beside him, rose and pulled his own tags from beneath his shirt. “Thank you, Sherrinford, for being candid. I, too, am done hiding who I am.”

  
One by one, the Wolves stood and pulled their tags from beneath their shirts, their loved ones standing beside them, hands in hands and around shoulders and waists. He smiled, keeping his teeth as hidden as he could as his pride rushed through him. He gave them a single nod and exited the courtyard. His patients knew what to do and they accepted him in their own way, feeling of understanding warming the air as they broke apart, heading for their own destinations.

  
He couldn’t be so sure about his next group of people. He had no idea who would be among the politicians. At the rate that the group was growing, he doubted that Mycroft knew all of them by name either. He simply understood that Kensington was not among them - he could not let that Hunter near his patients and the man that was vocally opposed to the Lupus sapiens.

  
“Well handled, Brother Dearest,” the voice of his eldest sibling called behind him. He paused, beaming back at him with his teeth flashing.  
“Thank you, Mycroft,” he chuckled, slapping the Government agent on the shoulder. “On to the next?”

  
The older man nodded, his cool mask resettling over his features. “Thirty people. A few from the House of Commons and a few from the House of Lords. Someone from MI5. A representative from the Queen will be here. It’s a lot of pressure.”

  
“You don’t need to tell me,” he groaned, already feeling the stress creeping into his shoulders which threatened to rise to his ears.

  
As their steps, echoing about the linoleum, brought them towards the main entrance. The mingled odor of thirty humans with their recent meals, over-priced perfumes, and stale cigarettes caused his nostrils to flare at the cacophony. It reminded him of London, of the countless cities he had dwelt in for a time, and of the life that surrounded him in the steel jungles of the world. _I should have asked them to refrain from the scented perfumes and deodorants_ , he flinched, his nose already regretting the coming hours. Pulling a professional smile on his lips and slowing his stride just a tad, he entered the fray.

  
“Welcome to Baskerville!”

  
The crowd quickly fell silent, their curious gazes fixed on him. He allowed his teeth to flash through his smile as he came to a stop. “For those of you who are unaware of who I am, my name is Dr. Sherrinford Holmes, the leading expert on the Lupus sapiens species, the director of this Transitional Facility, and the only Natural born Wolf in the U.K.”

  
His introduction was greeted by laughter, as he had hoped. The growing crowd was here to see him, after all. He had been all over the news, plastered on page and screen alike for the last two weeks or more.

  
“It is my pleasure to bring you around my facility this evening, though I will be unable to answer all of your questions.” He paused, again greeted by laughter. _It’s like I’m only here to entertain them_ , he mused, eyes narrowing slightly at the thought. _These are peoples lives we’re dealing with tonight. It’s not a circus for them to brag about seeing!_

  
“A few ground rules before we begin. No photography and no recording is allowed on grounds, seeing as the men here are, in fact men, and, like myself, are unable to give verbal consent to being captured on film and then placed on the internet. Do not touch any of the Wolves without expressed permission. Do not taunt them. Do not feed them. They are men but have the instincts of a wild animal as well. They should be treated with respect, as one would treat a strange dog that happened to have the intelligence to understand what you are saying. If you have questions, please feel free to ask them. My brother, Mycroft Holmes, will be on hand to speak about anything that piques your curiosity. He is well-versed in the world of Lupus sapiens and is also the acting Deputy Director of Baskerville as well as my mouthpiece when my lips are no longer able to form words.” He smirked slightly, setting the crowd chuckling again. _Maybe humor is their way of hiding their unease_ , he mused, noting that several members of the assembly were perspiring rather profusely at the moment. He clapped his hands together. “Any questions before we get started?”


	44. Chapter 43: The Celebrity and the Old News

The questions were generally innocuous and expected. “How are the patients referred here?” _They are given an assigned Transitional facility based off of where they live primarily_. “Are the Wolves placed in compounds that suit them best?” _Sometimes. If it can be requested by an expert such as myself._ “When are they integrated into Packs? When can they bring non-Lupus sapiens to the facility?” _As always, when they are ready. When they’ve made friends, through support groups or what have you. Or when I’m willing to push them._ “Will we be able to see a Shift?” That one earned a cocked eyebrow from both himself and his eldest brother. _Haven’t you all see enough?_ He had rethought, of course, and had decided that he could Shift for those that wanted to see but was a bit put off. _A circus, as I thought._

  
Their steps moved through the halls noisily, heels clacking and clicking on the linoleum echoing against the walls. A brief time was spent in the labs, discussing the research that they were conducting to create medications and suppressants, even one potential anti-venom that could be used when one was first Bitten to prevent Turning. None were ready to test on the men that had signed up as glorified lab rats, but the fact that there were advances being made impressed the assembled government officials. They asked several questions about the process and the ingredients used along with a few not-so subtle hints about speeding the process along.

  
After the lab tour, the sun had set and stars were appearing through the thick-paned windows and the crowd turned towards the apartments. He could feel the Moon rising towards the horizon and he allowed himself a rather wistful glance out the window. The night of the Moon was usually when he was free to be himself, but he was going to miss his freedom tonight. He had missed it when he had been boarded, the headmaster locking him into a closet or the spare gymnasium, and a few times when he had been hiding at university. Since his final graduation, he had had every opportunity to take a train to the country and run. Tonight, he was going to be on a tight leash, even if it wasn’t literally.

  
He stopped outside his door, his hand on the knob. “The Moon will be rising in about an hour. I tend to Shift before then. If you wish to observe, you may. I only ask that you remain well back. Even I can become discombobulated on occasion.”

  
Mycroft inclined his head and held the door for him to pass through. Much to his chagrin, the entire entourage of politicians and the like piled in after him. His brother closed the door with a firm click and a sympathetic twitch of his lips, his mask firmly in place. “I think the kitchen area, along the counter and behind the island would be the optimal viewing location, don’t you think, Brother?”

  
“Yes. That should be fine,” he replied, through gritted teeth. He was a Wolf, after all, and he was beginning to feel very trapped. Trapped animals were the most dangerous. _Keep it together_ , he tried to mentally soothe himself, _Think of the good you are doing. Hold your breath and grit your teeth for one night._

  
Yanking his tie off and pulling his suit coat from about his broad shoulders, he knew that he was lying to himself and that it wasn’t quite working. _Think of Thomas. Think of Sherlock. You are doing this for them_.

  
He inhaled the jumble scent of thirty-one other bodies and focused on Mycroft. While the other Alpha caused him to bristle, he was Pack, and that was a comfort, however small. His fingers fumbled with the buttons before his shirt came free and was shortly joined by his trousers and his socks. His pants were a lost cause. He was not an object to be ogled regardless of his usual sense of propriety (or lack thereof) in front of his Pack members.

  
The crowd fell silent, eyes fixated on him. Slowly, he closed his eyes and squatted, his fingers brushing the carpet of the adjoining parlor. His tags bounced against his chest with the movement. His collar was tucked into his trouser pocket and there it would stay for the night. He was done hiding in plain sight.

  
_And breathe._

  
He took another inhale and Shifted, shaking his coat to it’s full length and luster as his snout and tail erupted and his paws gripped the carpet fibers. With a soft whine, he extricated himself from the remains of his pants. The eyes that were focused on him in his struggle made him self-conscious, his ears flattening themselves against the sides of his wedge-shaped skull and he retreated several steps until his tail brushed the back wall. He fixed Mycroft in his wide, overwhelmed gaze, needing the man to get him out of the suddenly confining flat.

  
“Let’s take a look at the outdoor enclosures,” the older man said, opening the door to the flat. Pouring on his speed, he launched himself past the slow-moving humans and into the hallway beyond. His feet skidded a bit on the linoleum but he caught himself before his rather large lupine nose hit the floor. The air seemed a bit freer out here and his heart slowed to a significantly slower pounding pace than it had been seconds before he gulped pants of ‘clear’ air.

  
He traveled a bit further down the hallway, towards the doors and away from the people that were pouring out of his flat. He bit back a possessive growl. It would take several days to air the place out and rid it of their horrifically mingled reticence that were currently clogging his olfactory sense. He forced himself to sit and wait, his tail wagging expectantly even as he sneezed to rid his snout of their stench which had only grown worse with his Shift. _Definitely should have asked for scentless deodorant_.

  
Mycroft finally exited the flat and began moving the admittedly startled gathering closer to him. A young blonde woman gave him a smile, her teeth flashing. He growled before he could stop himself, his teeth flashing before he could quickly tuck them away again. Her eyes widened and she stopped, her lilac Speed stick activating with terror sweat.

  
“Don’t smile with your teeth,” his brother stated, moving to quickly stand beside him. He thrust his head under his brother’s waiting palm, needing the comfort that he could provide and a way to show that he meant nothing by the growl moments earlier. The man’s fingers massaged the top of his skull before tugging on one of his ears. “Teeth are a threat. Remember that instincts are still very much a part of the genetic make up of the Lupus sapiens. Also, before you do anything like pet him-” The man paused, no doubt raising an eyebrow at the women of the group who would forget that he was a man and see him as a ‘cute puppy’. “Ask. He will answer you. He is quite capable of more than rational thought.”

  
Mycroft turned to look at him, his hand still tugging gently on his ear. “Hungry? I have jerky,” he asked quietly. He nodded, positively starving after his Shift.

  
The British Government reached into his pocket, holding up a finger to the thirty watchers, and pulled a strip of jerky from his pocket. Not waiting for it to be offered, he gently snatched it from the hand and began moving further down the hallway. “Follow us, ladies and gentlemen, to the outside enclosures.”

  
Sherrinford found himself calming as the evening progressed. The bits of beef jerky that his elder brother kept slipping him were certainly helping and the group that followed his movements like a shadow was well-meaning despite their rather horrid stench. They had positive reactions to what they saw and they were willing to find the humanity in his kind. It helped to have Mycroft there to explain their process and their techniques, and outline their goals for the Wolves that presented themselves. It was especially wonderful to have his brother there when the older man stumbled over an exposed root and landed on his buttocks. His canine laughter rolled out of him, truly marking him as more than a dog, even as his brother’s cheeks flushed with humiliation at the laughter that came from the watchers.

  
The group, despite their enthusiasm and positive attitude, was cautious, keeping well back from the enclosures. Only a few Wolves, primarily those that had been Turning since the Rash Turnings or shortly thereafter, approached the fence, tails wagging and heads cocked with curiosity. Despite their distance from the fences, the government officials eagerly watched the packs from afar, watching their play, hearing their choruses of howls, and watching them ultimately fall into slumber in one large pile.

  
Inside, they viewed the tanks with their special additions. The family members and friends scratching ears and bellies, having full conversations, and cuddling with their furry loved ones. Sean and Elizabeth, her stomach jutting proudly like the prow of a boat, greeted the group as they walked down the residential hallway. They did not invite anyone into their home away from home but waved (or wagged) happily, answer questions that were posed. Sherrinford felt a welling of pride when the man from MI5 seemed to take a special interest in his best patient (Because Sherlock was his worst - _obviously_ ).

  
Regardless, when the clock had crept well into the wee morning hours, he was glad to see the group go into one of the apartment complexes for the human scientists. They would leave in the morning, hopefully carrying reports of how human the Lupus sapiens were and how they truly should be treated as such. Leaving them in the lobby of the building, he sat patiently as men and women filed by, shaking Mycroft’s hand and offering to shake his paw. He consented with a small eye roll. He even let a few of them pet him (after they had asked permission, of course), their tentative but eager hands brushing the top of his head. After the parade had dispersed, he shot his sibling a look, his tongue lolling over his teeth in an exaggerated yawn.

  
“Yeah,” Mycroft yawned, “I’m exhausted, too, and we’ve still got two babies to think about.”

  
He replied with a faint whine. His task was far from over. _Poor Molly must be going crazy right now!_ he thought, rising and setting off towards his brother’s flat at a brisk but stiff-legged trot.   
_ _ _ _ _

  
His wife shot him a relieved look as he opened the door to their flat. Sherrinford slipped by him, hustling over to the Pup that was yipping from the inside of the playpen walls. The leggy Wolf leapt the fence and began rumbling and nudging his nephew, calming the upset infant.   
Molly raced into his arms, the crying Benedict held to her chest. “I couldn’t calm them down. I couldn’t! They hate me! I’m a horrible mother! I can’t even keep my sons happy!”

  
He welcomed his anxious wife into his arms, taking Benedict from her as he pulled her close. “You are a wonderful mother, Mol,” he murmured, pressing kisses onto her forehead and into her hair. “This is our first Full Moon. Next time, Sherrinford and maybe even Sherlock will be here for Thomas the whole time. It can only get better from here. I promise.”

  
His wife sniffled. “I just feel so inadequate.”

  
“All you need is some sleep,” he breathed, giving the woman one last kiss before giving her a gentle push towards the bedrooms. “You’ll feel better in the morning. Sherrinford’s got Thomas settled now and I’ll get Benedict to bed. Go.”

  
_Thank you_ , Molly mouthed, noting that the baby in his arms had quieted. She pressed a gentle kiss to his lips before they were pressed onto Benedict’s head. She made her way down the hall, stopping to give her other son (who was now curled into a ball at her brother-in-law’s side) a pat on the head.

  
Mycroft found himself barely suppressing a large yawn that morphed into a heavy sigh. “You want me to take Benedict or you want them both?”

  
His brother gave him a small jerk of his head and a faint whine. The younger man was tired, too. One baby was enough for everyone tonight. “Good night, Sherrinford,” he breathed, rubbing Benedict’s back as he continued into the hallway and his own bed.


	45. Chapter 44: The Detective

The late morning found him curled around John, his Mate, who had wrapped them both in his comforter on the mattress that his parents and supplied. Despite the fact that he was curled around the smaller man, the doctor had his head resting against his chest, his own arms wrapped about his torso. The scent that tickled his nostrils contained traces of an activity that he rarely participated in and had never thought he’d be engaged in after being Bitten. Regardless of his canine attributes, namely his knot, his Mate had found the experience as pleasurable as he had.

  
The older man inhaled deeply beside him, his arms and legs pulling them tighter as his morning arousal grew, pressing against his own. Bleary blue-grey eyes blinked at him as slightly chapped lips curved into a smile. “G’morning.”

  
Sherlock’s lips twitched in response. “Hello John.”

  
The soldier shook his head infinitesimally, his head shifting slightly on his sternum. “I can’t believe we’re here,” the man’s voice, gruff with sleep stated.

  
“You know why we’re here, John,” he replied. “Staying in London would have been unbearable for everyone involved.”

  
The other man gave him a squeeze, causing him to release a teasing growl. “You know what I mean, Sherlock. I can’t believe that we took the next step in our relationship. We’re officially Mates now, right? At least that’s what your brother will say.”

  
He nodded. They had taken enormous strides in their relationship over the last few days in the semi-privacy of the Holmes’ country home. The first night had been filled with exploring and learning, John discovering everything about his ‘new’ body as he learned every line of his. Every twist of scar-tissue, every tracing of hair, every place of arousal. Last night, the night of the Full Moon, they had run together beneath her rays and, as the morning light had taken him from his fur, they had consummated their relationship in the filtered light of the forest, solidifying their dedication to each other, and cementing their status as Alphas of their odd little pack. “You know I don’t care what Sherrinford or anyone else has to say,” he stated, his nose inhaling the wondrous odor of gunpowder and sex and _John_ along his mate’s of skin.

  
The doctor chuckled. “You know that Evelyn will care.”

  
“Yes, well. She will be pleased, I’m sure.” He rose onto his elbows, arching his back in a stretch, his back popping as it only could after he had Shifted. As he stretched, the soldier rubbed his back, a soft grin on his face. The look was one that he had never experienced before and it made him feel warm and fuzzy inside. That feeling of satisfaction was one that he only achieved when he was getting his belly rubbed or his ears scratched. _Maybe sex isn’t so bad_ , he reasoned, _Especially not if it leads to this. John in my arms, his aroma mixing with my own Wolf-scent. It is everything an Alpha should want._ If he had been a cat, he’d be positively purring right now.

  
The blonde was still grinning at him; his face more youthful than he had seen it in years. “Well, as wonderful as this has been, Sherlock, I think that I should dress at least before your parents come in and find us.”

  
The detective cocked an eyebrow. “Are we in uni again, John?” he queried, knowing that he didn’t want his parents to find him naked either. Things had never truly been the same since he was Bitten, especially with his mother who was consumed with feelings of guilt whenever she saw him or Sherrinford. Her scent was filled with shame and sadness during every interaction they had, regardless of the form either he or his brother were in.

  
Regardless of his goading, the older man gave him one final squeeze before slipping from the mattress and his comforter. His own smile darkened slightly, knowing that there was one more night that they would stay beneath his parents’ roof.

  
“Are you staying furry?” his Mate breathed, pulling his jumper about his chest, covering a bit of their mingled scent with the smell of wool.

  
Sherlock sighed, torn. Something within him longed to hold the man to him; something that his Wolf from could not do for his lack of hands.

  
“It’s okay, Sherlock. I understand.”

  
“Thank you,” he breathed, _John always understands_. He sighed. _I am a lucky man and a lucky Alpha_. “One last thing.”

  
He reached upwards, grabbing his Mate’s hand and pulling him back down onto the mattress. John landed with a thump and a surprised laugh. He silenced the greying man with a firm but tender kiss.

  
After a blissful moment, he released the sign of affection and breathed, “Thank you. Today would be too long to wait to do that again.”

  
John smiled, his warm, calloused hand cupped his cheek as he pulled his fur about him. The hand rubbed his jowl before finding it’s way onto the top of his head to scratch one of his ears, their brows touching lovingly.

  
The door slowly opened behind them with a creak. The white head of his father appeared, a sheepish grin on his face. “Oh, I’m sorry boys,” he said, “But I thought you might like breakfast.”

  
“That would be excellent, thank you,” the doctor replied, standing up with his knees cracking. _The night on the forest floor and on this mattress is probably not the best for him_ , Sherlock realized, releasing an apologetic whine as he licked the retreating hand of his lover. The hand he’d licked instantly forgave him with a ruffle of the shaggy, curled fur between his ears. “I know that I’m starving. I’m sure that Sherlock is probably hungry as well.”

  
He woofed in acknowledgement, his stomach aching with hunger. Shifting and coitus were tiring and required so much energy, his expedited metabolism needed fuel.

  
His father’s hands clapped together, startling him a bit and making him jump, his ears pricking at the sound. “Alright then, boys. Brekkie in five.” The man smiled brightly, giving him a wink despite his current state. “There might even be some bacon in it for you, My Boy.”

  
And, in an instant, the sudden invasion of their privacy was forgiven. Eager to consume the promised treat, the detective wound away from the doctor and past his father into the hallway beyond.   
_ _ _ _ _

  
He inhaled deeply, his lungs filling with the distinct odors of London, his beloved home. While it was nice to get away to the wide open spaces of the countryside of Oxford, he was even happier to be back where his heart truly lay. Glancing to his left, he found his Mate, his blue-grey eyes closed even as a small smile played on his lips. They had had an interesting trip, their relationship moving a new direction that gave him an intense emotional response that he could only describe as overwhelmingly protective and possessive. A soft growl rumbled in his chest, making John’s smile twitch into an even bigger grin. “Happy to be back in London?”

“Of course,” he replied, “But you already knew that.”

  
The other man shrugged wryly. “So…are you going to tell Evelyn, or am I?”

  
He gave a small shrug. “As the biological father, I would say that the task falls to you. However, I am perfectly content to leave our carnal relationship out of the knowledge of our thirteen year old.”

  
The army doctor simply shook his head, chuckling humorlessly. “Especially when you state it so bluntly, Sherlock.”

  
His brow furrowed. “That is what you were discussing, correct?”

  
The cab pulled to the curb outside of 221B, the sunshine reflecting off the skewed knocker cheerfully. John exited first, collecting their bags from the cabby and paying the man with a small smile. The wolf waited, sliding from the faux leather seat to stand before the bottom step, hands shoved into his pockets.

  
“Have a nice day,” the doctor said, waving as the black cab pulled back into traffic. Sherlock’s nostrils flared, a brief thrill of jealousy rushing through him before he quickly squashed it down. _Don’t be unreasonable. John is mine, no others_. John stepped up onto the bottom step, looking him directly in the eye, an amused smirk on his handsome, ruddy face. “I meant that we should tell Evy that we are becoming a real family.” The older man paused as his face fell briefly. “Unless you don’t want to make it official in the eyes of the non-Lupus sapiens of the world?”

  
Sherlock flushed, tilting his head to the right. “Are you proposing to me, John Watson?” he asked quietly, his lips trembling even as he smiled.

  
The kiss that met his full lips gave him the answer that he needed. His arms wrapped around the other man’s smaller body, pulling them together so that the other man’s free hand to could play through his curls and deepen their kiss. He could feel the electric thrill race through him as his body responded and his logical mind chided him for falling in love, how the sentiment would kill him and those around him, but he didn’t care. He had John Watson and the other man had him.

  
Grinning wider as the doctor pulled back, his lips swollen with their intense kiss, he simply said, “Yes.”

  
The greying man beamed at him, his teeth flashing white in the sunlight. The sight didn’t even bother him in the slightest, his own teeth revealing themselves as he laughed, his happiness spilling out in the only way that his human body could allow. In that moment, however, he would have given anything to howl his joy to the whole of Baker Street and beyond.

  
John’s laugh joined his own as the door beside them opened to reveal their beautiful daughter, her arms crossed over her chest, looking unimpressed. Her eyebrow was playfully cocked expectantly. “So…what’s going on?”

  
“We’re getting married!” the soldier blurted out, his face turning a rather handsome shade of pink.

  
The teen looked at the pair of them with a completely unsurprised look on her face. Her lips quirked into a dry smirk that nearly match his own at times. A rush of pride went through him at the sight. _She is as much my child as John’s_ , he realized.

  
The smirk twitched into a genuine beaming smile which gave him a split second to brace himself for the incoming impact. The young woman flung herself into their arms, wrapping them close together in her unbridled joy. He pulled her close, inhaling her wonderful aroma of fresh-cut grass, crayons, vanilla, gun powder and a bit of his own scent of chemical compounds. It was the most wonderful scent in the world in his (admittedly) love-addled mind. Unable to stop himself, he pressed a gentle kiss into the top of her head before turning his head to capture his Mate’s lips.


	46. Chapter 45: The Traitor and her Lover

She couldn’t help but release the breath that she had been holding for the last three days. The only thing that the media (or anyone else for that matter) seemed to care about was the Lupus sapiens and their leader, Sherrinford Holmes. The image of his Shift in Parliament played through every segment along with the eye witness accounts of those that had visited Baskerville and the other facilities. Everything was as she expected it to be: sterile yet adaptable, rigid yet comfortable, safe yet dangerous. The Wolves had made a good impression and with it, an increased fervor behind those that supported them as human beings. Sherrinford had had a good deal to do with that she realized. After all, he stayed with the visitors through every step of the process, according to reports, even Shifting in front of them again, upon their request. _Dedicated and self-sacrificing to the last_.

  
Of course, now that the media circus was partially over, the greatest task would be at hand. Her boyfriend had to meet her mother and she had to ‘kill’ him.

  
The thought sent a shudder through her. She had known that what her family did was wrong so for long now that taking a stand against them was not a new thought. It was the actual planning and the realization that she was turning against everyone that she had ever loved in her childhood that made blips of regret flare in her mind.

  
The buzz of her mobile against the worn wood of her coffee table roused her from her spiraling thoughts.

  
SHERRINFORD HOLMES

  
“Oh,” she breathed, her heart beginning to race as she picked up the device and slid right. “Hello?”

  
“Hello Imogen. It’s Sherrinford,” the rich baritone stated across the open line. She could hear the smile in the sound, making her smile in return, her doubt vanishing instantly.

  
“How are you?” she asked, plopping herself down on her couch as her blush continued to deepen.

  
“I’m well. A bit exhausted but well,” the Wolf replied with a tired chuckle. “How are you?”

  
“Fine,” she blurted out, trying to hide her anxiety.

  
“Great!” the man replied, “I’m heading back into London from Baskerville and I was wondering if I could stop by? Go over the plan and figure out a date that could work?”

“Sure!” she replied instantly even as her eyes roved about her rather neglected flat. _I really should have cleaned days ago_ , she mentally chided.

  
“Wonderful!” Sherrinford continued, “I will see you in about an hour.”

  
“Ta!” she said, hanging up on the man she loved and setting to work. She had some serious cleaning to do.  
_ _ _ _ _

  
Promptly an hour after hanging up with the man, the fluffy wolf appeared at her door. She had spent the last half hour scrambling to finish her grading and gathering ingredients for a simple dinner. When her buzzer had rung, she had some sausages and onions sautéing in a frying pan on her stove while she unthawed some kaiser rolls on her counter.

  
The buzz of her doorbell made her jump and smile. She rushed through her flat, jumping over a jumble of shoes that she should have picked up, and buzzed the incredible man that she could call her own into her apartment. “Come on up!” she called, pushing the button that unlocked the door downstairs, listening to the buzzing with the brightest smile on her face. After a count of ten, knowing that it had to be difficult to open a door with paws, she released the buzzer and opened her door.

  
Bounding down the hallway, tail wagging and tongue lolling cheerfully, was Sherrinford Holmes. “Hello Handsome,” she murmured, kneeling in her doorway, opening her arms. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

  
The Wolf bounded into them, filling them with warmth and love as his front legs wrapped around her shoulders. His tongue ran up her cheek and into her hairline as he rumbled deep in his chest. “Let’s get inside,” she murmured, her fingers winding through her lover’s thick, coppery fur.

  
Sherrinford nodded, snuffling along her jaw before relinquishing his ‘hug’ and stepping back into the hallway. “Come on in,” Imogen beamed, “Dinner’s almost ready, if you’d like to slip into something that can eat sausage and onion sandwiches.”

  
The Wolf cocked an eyebrow muscle sarcastically but brushed by her anyway. She grinned, watching him trot over to her couch, grab the pink terrycloth bathrobe in his mouth, and made him way into her washroom, closing the door behind him. The teacher bit back a chuckle, finding his modesty cute, especially since his Shift was being televised globally on nearly every channel imaginable and probably would be for months to come.

  
Closing the door to her flat behind her, Imogen swept back into the kitchen to grab her hastily prepared meal and brought it to the table. Scrambling a bit, she tried to make it look presentable only to have a pair of strong arms wrap around her waist from behind. “You don’t have to do that,” a husky baritone whispered in her ear, “You cooked for me - after everything that’s happened. I’m already impressed.”

  
Cheeks flushing a deep red, the small woman spun in the arms of her lover and stood on her toes to chastely steal a kiss from his thin lips. “I know but I can’t help but feel inadequate...”

  
“Inadequate? You? Imogen. You are amazing.” Sherrinford beamed at her, his smile radiating joy despite it’s lack of visible teeth. “And everything smells delicious.” His lips met hers before he drew back and pulled a chair out, gesturing her into it. “Thank you for seeing me. And for cooking.”

  
Imogen took the seat and watched the graceful yet predatory movement of the werewolf as he took his own seat. Smiling crookedly, he offered his empty plate to her. She smiled back, opening a roll, slathering it with mustard, filling it with onions and placing a sizzling sausage on top. “Bon appetit!” she sang, making the man flush as he brought the plate back to sit in front of him.

  
Her eyes were glued on his sandwich as he restuffed the onions and looked over at her pointedly. “Are you eating something?”

  
“Oh!” she exclaimed, gathering her sandwich together in a slipshod manner on her plate. “Right. Just lost in your glow.”

  
The man snorted but raised his sandwich in a mock toast. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.”

  
Stuffing the rather large sandwich into her mouth caused the pair of them to laugh. Sherrinford had mustard on his chin and she could feel grease all around her mouth, but, somehow, she felt perfect in that moment of complete happiness.

  
The man picked up his napkin and wiped the offending mustard away even though she was certain his tongue could have done it just as easily. “It’s absolutely delicious, Imogen. Thank you so much for cooking.”

  
“My pleasure,” she replied before taking another large mouthful.

  
“Were you ever going to tell me?”

  
The Lupus sapien’s face was serious but open. His lips twitched into the smallest smile. “I mean, I shouldn’t talk but…were you?”

  
The look was killing her slowly, feeling like she was being guilt-tripped into telling the man what she had never planned to. “No. No I wasn’t planning on it.” She looked down at her hands, unable to look at those impossibly blue eyes. “I’m so sorry. You’ve been so open and trusting and I couldn’t do it, Sherrinford. I knew that once you found out about my family, you’d never see me in the same way.”

  
“You’re right about that,” the man murmured, one of his hands reaching across the table to take one of hers tenderly. She stiffened, waiting for the worst.

  
“I think that you are even stronger than I thought.”

  
Her eyes snapped up to see the man she loved beaming at her. “It’s incredibly difficult to stand up for something you believe in but it’s even harder to do it if you’re going against your family and everything that they value.”

  
“Yeah, well,” she muttered, flushing, “I was always a bit of a rebel. And I’ve met someone who filled all the emptiness that I felt. Someone who showed me that everything my family believes is so wrong. Someone who I really can’t think of living without - much less killing!” She groaned, feeling the man’s large hand squeeze hers comfortingly. “Oh God, Sherrinford, I -”

  
“You don’t have to say anything else, Darling,” the man murmured, “We’ll figure everything out. Together.”

  
“Promise?” she asked, against meeting his impossibly beautiful eyes.

  
He nodded. “Promise.” His smile lit up her world before he asked, “So, what’s the plan?”  
_ _ _ _ _

  
The morning light found her waking in the warm embrace of her lover. The previous evening had been one of discovery for the both of them. Sherrinford, though he never would have admitted it, had very few, if any, sexual encounters. And she quickly had discovered why.

  
The man had a rather canine attribute at the base of his impressive member. And it drove her absolutely mad. She was terrified when she first saw it, much less felt it seeking entrance, but she closed her eyes, told herself to relax, and took it into her body. She knew, in that moment, that regular human penises were forever inadequate from that point on.

  
The best part was that, once he had climaxed (with an adorable ‘Oh!’), they were joined together until the swelling at the base of his member deflated. During that time, he simply held her close, humming and rumbling in his chest as he scented her and teased her with little kisses. While conjoined, every movement one of them made, thrilled the other one. She was pretty sure that she had never climaxed so much in her life simply from the touch of another.

  
Bleary, blue eyes blinked open beside her followed by a slow smile. “Good morning, Beloved,” that husky baritone murmured right before the perfect pair of lips met hers passionately. A large, warm hand left her hip to cup her cheek, the thumb running over her cheekbone.

  
Breaking the kiss, she whispered, “It certainly is a good morning.” She beamed, watching him flush, the rose color on his cheekbones making him even more handsome. “We should have sleepovers more often.”

  
The man’s flush deepened. “I would love that,” he replied, shifting and rolling from the bed, the sheets tumbling away to reveal his toned physique. With a cock-eyed grin, the werewolf asked, “Breakfast?”

  
“I could use some coffee,” she stated, stretching against her silky sheets. “Are you cooking?”

  
“I’m not much of a cook, but I can certainly try!” The man shifted uncomfortably, grabbing her pink robe off the floor with a flourish.

  
She laughed, rolling from bed. “I can cook. Just get the coffee on, please.”  
_ _ _ _ _

  
He beamed at the woman on the bed below him, her hair about her head in a wild halo, the sun streaming through the window making her skin glow. _God, I love her_. “That I can do,” he breathed, “And I might be able to get some bacon, eggs, and toast cooking, too.”

  
The woman’s rich laughter, rising like a bell through the hills of Germany, met his ears as he exited the bedroom with another inhale, taking the aroma of their mingled love-making with him. It was exquisite and he made a promise to himself that he would carry that perfume with him everywhere until the day he died. _Which_ , he noted, _could be sooner than I’d like if things go wrong_. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Imogen. He trusted her with everything that he was and more. It was her family that he didn’t trust. He had flashbacks of his life with his adopted father, moving every three to four months, being chased by Hunters. _Maybe, just maybe, this will make the UK safe for all of my patients and those that will follow them_.

  
After a bit of sniffing (the metals of the pans were easy to pick out amongst the clutter of the cabinets while the spatula was less easy to discern), he set about scrambling a dozen eggs, making toast, and sizzling bacon. The feather light tread of the woman that accepted him tickled his ears, making him smile, his lips twitching.

  
“Wow,” her sweet voice breathed as her hands came to rest on his back, rubbing it gently, “You weren’t kidding!”

  
He turned, still smiling at her gorgeous morning face and her rumpled hair. “Of course not! I would never joke about breakfast.” He fixed his face in mock seriousness. “It’s the most important meal of the day.”

Imogen released a small snort as she turned to pour a healthy mug of coffee from the pot. “Want a cup?”

  
“Please,” he said with a nod, his eyes focused on flipping the bacon. “Black, two sugars.”

  
“No cream or milk?”

  
He shook his head, watching the woman pour about half a bottle of milk into her mug. “None. Thanks. I’m just used to drinking it straight out of the pot these days.”

  
“Oh?” the teacher queried, taking a spin from her steaming cup.

  
He shook his head slightly. “If we live through this, I will tell you why.” He scooped the eggs onto two plates and placed them on the table. “And please, Imogen, believe that I truly want to tell you.”

  
The woman smiled at him, her teeth flashing in a completely non-threatening way as only she could. “I’m not worried. I’m simply wondering.” The woman pulled the bacon off the stove and popped the toast from the toaster and placed them on the table with another sun-shaming smile. “Though I’ll hold you to it, Sherrinford. I want to know everything about you.”

  
He pulled the chair out for the stunning woman and gave her a small kiss on her rosy cheek, loving the warm texture. “And I, you.”


	47. Chapter 46: The British Government

He was not entirely pleased to have the woman here, in his quasi-private apartment, with his brothers, John, and Lestrade. He was glad, however, that he had insisted on keeping the flat near St. Bart’s, Molly’s old place before their marriage. He definitely did not want this woman - a _Hunter_ \- in his home and near his son (Or any of his children, for that matter).

  
He squinted a bit against the dull bulb above them, watching Imogen Crowley take a tentative sip from her teacup, her body leaning towards the lithe form of his youngest brother.

  
“So…what is the master plan that is going to end this trouble with the Hunters?” Sherlock drawled, his face composed into an unimpressed mask despite the fact that he was definitely on edge. The small muscle twitch around the corner of his mouth gave him away.

  
“It’s quite simple, really,” Sherrinford entered, leaning forward, his chin rising in a show of dominance. “Imogen and I are dating. She is taking me home to meet the family, as it were.”

  
“Yes, yes,” the detective insisted, waving the statement aside, “We know that part already. What is the rest?”

  
Imogen shot the dark-haired man a rather harsh look, snuggling closer to his youngest sibling in an almost protective manner. _Ah…so she does love him. Good_. Mycroft allowed himself a small smirk.

  
“Either way, let’s continue,” John said, leaning closer to his middle sibling even as Sherlock edged his chair closer to the soldier. _And they’re official now, too, it seems,_ he noted.  _Sentiment._

  
Imogen pulled some of her hair over her shoulder and straightened in her seat. “You will follow at a close but safe distance. Please bring the K13’s and any officers and agents who are sympathetic to the Wolves’ cause.”

  
“Done and done,” the DI stated, his mouth in a determined line, his arms crossing over his chest as he leaned back in his chair. “Date and time?”

  
“Tonight,” Sherrinford said, his brow knitting. “That’s why we’re meeting now, Greg.”

  
“Right, right,” the other man yawned, reaching for his coffee cup. “I had a long night shift last night. Eddington went out in his Wolf-shape for the first time. Things went well.”

  
“Wonderful,” the natural born Lupus sapiens smiled brightly. “I’ll look forward to speaking with him in the next couple of days.”

  
A rumble of general positivity and happiness at the success of the K13 program moved around the table with wide smiles and shining eyes. “Refocus, please,” Mycroft stated, his hands folding in his lap.

  
“Right,” Sherrinford took over, “If Eddington wants to come that way tonight as well, he is more than welcome. Do you have an extra tracker for him, Mycroft?”

  
“It can be done, for sure. Any Lupus sapiens in a Shifted form needs one, in case the Hunters take him elsewhere to dispose of him-”  
“Positive thinking, Mycroft!” John cut in, knowing full-well that his Mate would Shift if he needed to defend himself.

  
“We must be prepared for all eventualities,” he stated quietly, his voice taking an ominous tone. “Tonight. At Nineteen Hundred Hours, Sherrinford and Imogen will arrive at her uncle’s Kensington estate for dinner with her family. During the inevitable polite conversation before dinner, one of her family of Hunters will ask him to Shift. He will comply. With the window of opportunity open, and her family watching, Imogen will be expected to strangle him to death. It is during that time that we must move in. If we wait too long, Sherrinford will be dead, along with any other Lupus sapiens we bring with us. Are we clear?”

  
“Crystal,” Lestrade stated, giving him a sharp nod and rising from his chair. “I’ll rally the troops.”

  
“I’ll get my Browning,” John said, also rising. “Let’s make sure everything is set on our end.”

  
The flared nostrils of both the Wolves made him cock an eyebrow. John was already carrying his (illegal) firearm and had been for some time. The man was a soldier first and foremost. Old habits died hard.

  
“Let’s adjourn until half-past eighteen hundred hours,” he stated, rising from his chair and gesturing his remaining guests towards the door.

  
Imogen cuddled a bit closer into his youngest brother’s side, the tall man’s arm going around her shoulders protectively. He pressed a kiss to the top of her ebony hair, inhaling her scent.

  
“It was a pleasure to meet you, Imogen,” Mycroft said, still looking the couple up and down apprehensively. That woman, with her family history and her ties to Kensington, could be the end of everything that he had worked for - that his brothers had worked for.

  
“You too, Mycroft,” she said softly, a small smile on her lips. “I am looking forward to working an end to this discrimination that my family has only helped to advance.”

  
_Could love - sentiment - really change a person that much?_ , he wondered watching the couple leave, arms crossed over his chest. His thoughts flew to Molly. _It did for me…Best keep an eye on her. Just in case_.  
_ _ _ _ _

  
The assembled K13’s, officers, and his family were quite prompt, which he liked. _We’re off to a good start, anyway_. Several of the K13’s were surprisingly in their furry forms, bullet-proof vests strapped in place by their human partners, thick collars jangling with their tags and badges. Their nostrils were flared at all the new scents that surrounded them in the glen just off of the Kensington property.

  
All CCTV in the area had been put on a loop from the shots the night previous. Kensington definitely had personal access to the live footage and the last thing he needed was the man bent on bringing destruction of the Lupus sapiens knowing that they were gathering on his doorstep.

  
“Welcome,” he intoned, raising his hands to quiet the hushed conversations. “Thank you all for coming. I am glad to see so many people here.” The eyes of seven Turned Wolves, twenty officers, Lestrade, and his brothers and their Mates focused on him. “To reiterate what is about to happen: Sherrinford and Imogen will enter the building. Both are wearing cameras and Sherrinford has a wire. When he Shifts and Imogen moves to strangle him, we move in. Arrest people first, especially if they are encouraging the discrimination of the Lupus sapiens, or worse, encouraging the Kill-” A chorus of growls greeted that statement. “If this gets violent, which it might considering the number of transformed Wolves we have here tonight, please watch your Bites, gentlemen, and officers, do not shoot to kill. This raid is a covert government operation. Remember that.”

  
Trying to refrain from being noticed, the gathering nodded in acknowledgement. Sherrinford, tilting his chin up a bit, he laced his fingers through those of the teacher and headed towards the main road, where a government-issued cab waited to bring them towards the waiting battlefield.

  
He watched their retreating backs with apprehension. This was dangerous. So very dangerous. And the last thing he wanted was to have his youngest brother killed to bring about change for his kind. Over a mistake that he had made years ago in the creation of “The Declaration of the Rights of Werewolf Kind”.

  
“Good luck,” he breathed, knowing that his brother could hear him.


	48. Chapter 47: The Reluctant Huntress

Her great-uncle’s mansion loomed before them. She drew closer to Sherrinford, needing his warmth to remind her that everything was going to turn out just fine. He pressed his nose back into her ponytail, inhaling deeply. _He’s nervous, too. His life is literally in my hands_. The pressure made her palms sticky. She wiped them on her pants before reaching up to take the brass knocker in her right hand.

  
“Ready?” she breathed, trying to hide the tremor in her voice.

  
“Ready.” Sherrinford’s voice held the confidence that she needed to let the knocker go, the object hitting the back with a thud. The man beside her flinched a bit but gave her hand a squeeze, too.

  
The door opened to reveal her mother. She was a powerful woman and her outfit for the evening revealed that. Her greying hair was pulled back from her sharp, severely pursed face. The woman’s thin lips, however, left their lemon-sucking expression to fold into a grin that could only be called menacing. “Oh, hello darling,” she stated, her grin growing. “And this must be Dr. Holmes, whom we’ve all heard so much about.”

  
The offered hand, each finger bearing a ring with some form of sharp edge, was offered to her boyfriend. The Lupus sapiens didn’t hesitate, taking the hand with a firmly closed smile that even reached his eyes. She couldn’t breathe, watching the hands shake firmly. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Mrs. Crowley,” he said, still smiling as the woman’s weathered hand no doubt continued to squeeze the life out of his. “Your daughter is an amazing woman.”

  
The shaking continued. “That she is, Dr. Holmes.”

  
“Please,” the man she loved insisted, his smile becoming forced as the handshake from eternity continued awkwardly. “Call me Sherrinford.”

  
“If you insist.” Her mother finally released the Wolf’s hand with a grim grin, her voice taking on a rather maniacal quality. _How have I missed this?_ she wondered, her brow knitting and her lips pressing together. _Have I simply been clueless?_

  
“Shall we come in, Mother, or are we going to eat dinner outside?” she chimed in, wrapping her arm around the man’s thin but sculpted waist. “Sherrinford is eager to meet everyone.”

  
“Oh, yes,” he said, still smiling, “I’ve heard so much about your wonderful family that I feel like I know them already!”

  
“Well,” the matriarch stated, taking a step back from the door and gesturing them inside to the expansive and richly marbled foyer, “Then by all means, come inside. Welcome to our home.”

  
She watched the veterinarian’s mouth drop open in awe as his blue eyes wandered about the space. She knew that he had not been raised in a wealthy home. She knew that Hunters had kept him from living well and without fear until his quasi-father had sent him to boarding school. Even then, he had probably never experience old money. This house, a small castle really, had been in her family since the seventeen hundreds and the land dated to before that. It had been a gift from the royal family. _Blood money_ , she realized, her stomach sinking like a rock to the bottom of an incredibly deep well.

  
“You have an incredible home,” he stated, his voice hushed as his eyes continued to rove about the foyer.

  
“Yes, it certainly is. It’s been in my late-husband’s family for generations, dating back to the mid-sixteenth century when a single hovel dwelt on this very spot.”

  
Imogen hid an eye roll. Her mother loved bragging about their history. _Though she has yet to mention how we got this land or who had originally lived in the ‘hovel’…_

  
Staff rushed about, inclining their head at them as they passed bearing dishes of glasses and hors’ doeuvres. She could feel the man she loved bristling and tightening beside her, unused to the elevation that came with old order wealth and the vast amount of staff that it took to maintain a home of this size.

  
She was surprised when her mother led them to the library. So much of the mansion was dedicated to the decimation of Lupus sapiens that she had assumed that they would be led to one of the torture chambers. Instead, her family, including her great-uncle Teddy, sat on the leather loungers and arm chairs, sipping champagne and smiling up at them expectedly. So many of them were active Hunters, going to the continent in search of packs for their holidays. _What in the h*ll is going on?_ she wondered, plastering her smile back onto her face. _Did they find out?_

  
“May I present Immy’s gentleman caller, Dr. Sherrinford Holmes?” her mother announced to the gathering before pointing out the people that blinked up at him, their smiles turning sinister and sour. “This is Imogen’s brother, Frederick-” Nostrils wide, Sherrinford blinked once before giving her brother his hand, his face unreadable. “And my nephews, Andrew and Callum. They’re my late sister’s sons. My niece, Sarah and her husband, Joseph, Earl of Chestershire. My brother, Charles, Earl of Grantham and his wife, Margaret. Their children are all at university. Oxford.” More pleasantries were exchanged, including several tight-lipped smiles. Finally, the most uncomfortable exchange of the evening was made. “This is my father’s brother, Theodore, Lord Kensington, whom you’ve already met, I believe?” Her mother’s smile was positively poisonous.

  
“Yes,” the Wolf said, his chin raising slightly as he offered his hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you again, Lord Kensington, under much more pleasant circumstances.”

  
Her uncle, admittedly her favorite great-uncle while she was growing up, simply looked at the hand, his own appendages wrapped tightly around his cane. Due to his rather obese figure, he looked like a smug toad, eyeing a fly that landed just a bit too close. “Ah, yes. The Wolf.”

  
Sherrinford’s cheek turned a deep shade of red, his hand dropping to his side. “I am much more than that, Sir,” he stated calmly even as his jaw muscles spasmed. “I am well-educated, having attended some of the best private schools on the continent and I have a double first from Cambridge. I am the foremost researcher of Lupus sapiens in the world-”

  
“But none of that negated the fact that you are a _dog_.”

  
The single syllable world hit the man beside her hard, making him flinch, his pride wounded. After a moment of silence, he stammered, “I am sorry that you think that, Sir-”

  
“You are the worst kind of dog, do you know that, Holmes? You are a mangy mutt. A disgrace to society. A gutter rat that no one would want if they passed you on the street, starving and bloodied.” Her uncle’s eyes narrowed. “Do you know what I do when I see one of those mutts in the streets?”

His lips trembling, Sherrinford murmured, “You put it down, I’m sure.”

  
The old man smirked, his teeth flashing. “You are right. I take out my gun, and I shoot it dead. Right there. In the street.”

  
She knew that she was trembling now, her mouth open and her eyes wide. She knew that the plan they had worked so hard on had vanished. She knew that her family had never intended to give her the opportunity to kill Sherrinford Holmes. She had been the bait, the person to draw him there, and nothing more.

  
Her family closed in so much faster than she had thought possible. Her great-uncle grabbed her wrist and pulled her to kneel beside him as her cousins and brother converged around the unarmed man, weapons appearing from behind cushions and up sleeves. Her mother was shouting something about a pelt and her uncle Charles was cackling hysterically.

  
In less than two steps, the tall man was extricating his furry body from the ragged remains of his clothing, his human veneer gone. His tail was tucked and his ears were down, his steps taking him further from her until his backside connected with the bookcase behind him, her family closing in.

  
“Sherrinford!” she screamed, crying now as she fought against her uncle’s iron-like grip.

  
The Wolf, while obviously frightened, gave her a small look that could only be described as reassuring. His tags, wired to Mycroft, hung from his neck, capturing everything. She simply prayed that the eldest Holmes brother wasn’t too late.

  
The converging crowd around Sherrinford seemed to move in as one, knives slashing and renting the air as the agile Lupus sapiens lunged and bobbed in his limited space. Despite his best efforts, though, there were five of them and one of him, a yelp joined in the mocking cheers coming from her older family members.

  
Her heart stopped, unable to see what had happened, looking from her rather poor vantage point to see if it was a flesh wound or a mortal blow. She tugged at her wrist, still astonished by the impossibly tight grasp the old man had.

  
Suddenly, a flash of auburn erupted from the middle of the clump. Sherrinford was scrambling over the top, Frederick’s hand around his back right ankle as Sarah screamed, his claws biting into her scalp. With a fierce kick, the Wolf broke free and launched his body towards her.

  
A shot rang out and Sherrinford ducked, skidding on the marble, a smoking hole appearing in one of the book bindings where he had been seconds earlier. The slippery floor gave her family the time they needed to grab the Lupus sapiens again, Andrew latching onto his tail. With a strong pull, he was left a fist full of fur for his trouble even as Callum grabbed Sherrinford’s tags and yanked.

  
The strangled yowl broke her.

  
With more strength than she thought she had ever possessed, she pulled her wrist free and clocked her uncle in the nose for his trouble. Throwing herself across the room, she ignored the second gunshot, her eyes only focused on the man she loved and the tongue that was slowly turning purple as it fell out of a gaping maw. Searing pain lanced through her upper arm but she kept going, needing to reach Sherrinford, even if it was the last thing she did.

  
A heavy body landed on top of her. “Stay down, Immy!” Frederick hissed, pushing her forcefully into the floor. “Let the trained Hunters deal with the mutt.”

  
“No!” she gasped, wriggling in an attempt to escape. “Stop! Let him go!”

  
“He’s got to die, Immy,” her brother whispered, his hand winding through her hair tenderly. “They all do.”

  
It was then that a chorus of howls split the air. The hand in her hair tightened, raising her head and slamming it against the marble flooring.

  
Then black.


	49. Chapter 48: The Mate

He suddenly understood Sherlock’s desperate devotion to the injured John Watson from the previous months. He got it. But, as much as he hated leaving her side, he knew that he needed to see to his other patients.

  
With a soft sigh, he brushed her hair from her brow and pressed a kiss there tenderly. “I’ll be back, Darling,” he breathed, his breath disturbing the errant ebony curls that framed her face. He turned from the bed and left her private room, his side pulling a bit where the knife had caught him in the ribs two nights previously. It had been relatively shallow but had contained holly oil, making it heal slowly. The stitches, applied by his Alpha’s Mate, itched but he ignored the sensation and the urge to scratch it as he moved into the hallway.

  
He was glad that Mycroft was being understanding and allowing all of these people into his home on Downing Street in his less-used west wing, which had been converted into a small, state-of-the-art hospital/clinic. Several of his current patients were not in their more doctor-friendly bodies at the moment, demanding his attentions.

  
Eddington, the first to come to his rescue, had taken a bullet for him, the projectile going into his unprotected stomach. The Wolf was resting comfortably now, his intelligent eyes catching his as he entered the room, his tail giving a small wag.

  
“Hello Eddington,” he stated, tipping his head a bit to the left (It was the other man’s room, after all). “Let’s get those bandages changed.”

  
The Wolf released a small woof, his eyes watching his every move as his hands dexterously removed the soiled bandages and he examined the wound. “This looks like it’s healing well. You may be able to Shift back tomorrow!” He grinned as the Lupus sapiens’ tail wagged faster. “Let’s put some new bandages on this and you’ll be all set for tonight. Feel free to take a walk in the yard maybe…get out and stretch your legs. No running. Walking only.”

  
The good-natured growl that greeted that order widened his grin as he taped the plaster shut again and giving the officer a friendly pat. “Maybe I’ll join you later?”

  
The Wolf’s tail wagged more, his tongue lolling out jovially. “Alright,” he replied with a smile, “I’ll see you later, Isaac.”

  
He left the room to continued his rounds, many of his patients able to Shift back from rather superficial wounds made by poisoned blades. The use of such dirty tactics made him shake his head as he waited for them to complete their Shifts, taking note of any lingering pain or loss of feeling, depending on the poison that had infiltrated their systems.

  
His last patient was the most difficult by a landslide. Bracing himself, he opened the door.

  
“Thank God, Sherrinford! Tell John that I am fine!”

  
Sherlock glowered at him from the bed, white sheets pulled halfway up his chest to reveal the knitting bullet wound in his shoulder. John was beside him, his arms crossed over his chest, obviously not pleased with their rather difficult patient. Sending the man a sympathetic nod, he turned his full attention to his older brother. “Sherlock,” he stated authoritatively, “You have a shattered scapula. You are not moving that arm for another two to three days. If you think you can do that without getting out of bed…”

  
The harrumph he received told him everything he needed to know.

  
“I’m sure that Evy will be by this afternoon,” John began, leaning forward in his seat and placing a hand on the man’s uninjured shoulder.

  
“I need a case!” The brunette was not having any of their rather firm doctoring. “Get me something! A level three will do!”

  
Shaking his head, Sherrinford waved at the exasperated army doctor. “I’ll be back with Thomas. That should distract him for a while.”

 _Thank you_ , the soldier mouthed as his Mate continued to blather on, his brain slowly dying of boredom as it tended to do whenever he solved a case.

  
Shutting the door with a firm click, Sherrinford Holmes headed back to his Mate, reflecting on the last forty-eight hours.

  
_Imogen’s head collided with the floor, adding to his desperation to get free. He was willing to die for his cause but he was not going to allow anyone to hurt his Mate. The lack of oxygen was making stars dance before his eyes, his flailing efforts failing until the pressure was relieved suddenly._

  
_He leapt from his attacker, noting the new bullet wound in the man’s thigh that hadn’t been there before, and sprang across the slippery marble to Imogen._

  
_His surge forward was joined by the other Wolves, Mycroft’s MI5 members, and Lestrade’s officers. The wave was met with a little resistance, new, poisoned weapons slicing the air around him. He caught one in the ribs as he breeched the ebony-haired teacher’s side but he didn’t feel it. He simply needed to see that she was okay, that she was breathing._

  
_Her faint breath fogged the marble and he couldn’t see any blood. Slowly, his eyes flickering about the room and watching the surprising amount of carnage, he lowered himself over her, warming her shocked body with his own heat._

  
_During his advance, his brother’s Belstaff got a new hole. It had been answered with a sharp retort from John Watson, precision shot, Charles, Earl of Grantham, falling back against the couch cushions, his shooting arm useless. Wolves swarmed Imogen’s cousins and brother, pinning them even as their flesh was flayed with knives, not once resorting to their teeth._

  
_It was Lestrade’s entrance that brought the entire attack to a halt. The grey-haired man, one of the most respected DI’s in the Yard had brought the officers with hands, binding men and women in handcuffs and escorting them off the premises._

  
Trials would begin in a few days, he assumed, once everyone had recovered and could testify. The evidence collected via Imogen’s hidden camera and his own wire would be damning enough, but the injured Lupus sapiens, the rather libertine shooting style of the Earl, and the vast number of eye witnesses would be enough to put Kensington and his Hunter family behind bars for a long time. _Hopefully long enough to eliminate the Hunters entirely_ , he hoped.

  
Upon his own insistence, Imogen had been placed in his room, the woman’s perfect perfume calming him despite her current comatose state. Due to the proximity, he made a quick stop in the nursery, relieving Molly of her more mobile child, and giving his human nephew a tender kiss on the brow. He didn’t want Benedict to feel left out for being ‘normal’. “How about I take this little guy for a while, eh Molly?” he asked, smiling as he held the Pup tighter to his chest.

  
The woman nodded at him, looking relieved. “That’d be great, thanks. If I could get Myc to look after Ben for a bit too, I could shower.”

  
Teasingly, he inhaled dramatically. “So _that’s_ what I’ve been smelling!”

  
He expertly dodged the burp cloth that was thrown at his head with a chuckle. “Not nice, Sherrinford!” his sister-in-law hissed in an equally playful tone before she picked up the squirming Benedict. “But thank you, nonetheless. Twins are hard.”

  
“My pleasure,” he replied, exiting the nursery with his precious cargo and heading down the hallway. Thomas, sensing his closeness, Shifted and snuggled into his chest, his little nose working even as his toothless mouth opened in a wide yawn. The sight brought his own desire for Pups to the fore but he quickly forced it down again. Some things took time and had to wait. Procreation, at a time like this, was one of them.

  
As the Pup settled into a nap, lulled there by his even strides, he opted against bringing him to Sherlock. The older man would simply wake him up again, obsessing over the measurements he’d been taking since his first Shift. Thomas, as much as anyone within the Downing Street abode, deserved rest, too. His door gave way gently under his palm, revealing his Mate to his eager eyes. She was beautiful, her ebony hair fanning about her head, making her complexion appear quite pale. It was a bit disconcerting even though he knew that there was nothing wrong. Imogen was resting comfortably and she would wake up soon, he surmised. _Maybe it’s time for her to meet the thing responsible for our prolonged separation._

  
He placed Thomas on the coverlet briefly as he Shifted. Leaping up to join his nephew and the woman he loved, he carefully arranged his rather considerable bulk so as not to disturb the two sleepers. His long body settled along the woman’s cool form, allowing his tongue to lap at the nape of her neck tenderly before he nudged the Pup closer to his side. The little one was quite the wanderer in the last few days, his legs becoming more sure. The last thing he needed was to lose Thomas off the side of the bed. Settling a bit deeper into the soft mattress and his lover’s side, Sherrinford allowed his eyes to briefly close.   
_ _ _ _ _

  
He woke some time later to the feeling of warm fingers messaging his skull and teasing his ears. He snorted, fully awake, making the Pup beside him wake from his own nap with a disgruntled (and inevitably hungry) yowl. As much as he wanted to kiss the woman beside him and welcome her back to the land of the living, he turned to comfort and nuzzle his nephew first. Setting his tongue to work, he calmed the little one, grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and moved him to rest on the woman’s stomach.

  
“Is this your new patient?” Imogen asked quietly, her awed voice rough from lack of use. Her eyes, though a bit bleary, shone with a light that was indescribable, as if she were seeing the most miraculous thing in the world. _Just think if this was our Pup_ , he thought, unable to hide his smile, as he nodded, allowing the action to pull him human-ward with a shiver.

  
He stretched, his back popping as he rolled from his side to his stomach. Resting on his elbows, he smiled at the woman beside him and brushed some of her hair from her cool brow. “He’s my nephew. And he’s like me.”

  
A small, tender hand raised slowly to cup his cheek, rubbing the patchy scruff there. “He’s adorable.” Her smile made him melt. Her other hand teased the Pup, his mouth opening and closing in search of his bottle. “Hello! Aren’t you the most precious thing?”

  
“His name is Thomas,” he stated, smiling softly at the sight. _This could be mine. Mine_. “He’s Mycroft’s.”

  
The Pup began to amble about on Imogen’s torso, tripping over his own feet as he continued to search for food, mewling all the while. The woman winced at the shrill sound even as her fingers continued to pet the little being. “And, as much as I love you and wish to remain here at your side, I should probably get him his bottle and give him to Sherlock. He’ll keep the insufferable git’s mind busy for an hour or two.”

  
Imogen laughed, the action jostling her a bit too much. “Ow!” she moaned, pressing a hand to her brow.

  
Pressing another kiss to her aching forehead, he murmured, “I’ll be back shortly. I’ll send John in here to check on you. I am, after all, not a human doctor.”

  
The woman smiled, giving him a shooing motion with one of her limp hands. “I know, Darling. Go! I’ll be here when you get back.”

  
He captured her lips with his, fervently pressing his thin pair to those beautiful, giving full lips of the woman he loved. His body started to become aroused as her scent, so full and luscious, surrounded him and he longed to remain in that moment. It was instantly broken, however, when the Pup released a broken yowl, announcing his remaining hunger to the world. Reluctantly, he pulled away as Thomas released another whimper. “I’ll be right back. I promise.”

  
“I’ll hold you to that,” she beamed, cradling Thomas to her chest, cooing nonsense to him as he gathered some clothes from his closet and threw them on.

  
With another kiss, he took his charge from his Mate and left their room with another backward glance. Imogen smiled as she watched them leave, one of her hands pressed to her abdomen. His feet brought him down the stairs and into the kitchen, his desire to get back to the bedridden woman so instinctually strong that it was terrifying. Molly was there, Benedict at her breast. “Oh, hey, Sherrinford. Is he fussy?”

  
The Pup yowled again. “What gave that away?” he chuckled, jostling the Pup in an attempt to quiet him. He beamed at his sister-in-law as he pulled a bottle from the fridge and began reheating it. “I’m going to give him to Sherlock for a bit. Keep him from tearing your guest room apart.”

  
“Sounds good,” the pathologist said, still smiling, her hand patting her human child’s bum. “He was asking for a stool sample from Benedict’s diaper earlier today. I definitely didn’t give him anything - and I gave him severed toes for years - but, seriously…yuck.”

  
“I know,” he replied, testing the bottle on his wrist before offering it to the whining Wolf. “I guess this little distraction will be just what the doctor ordered.” With another chuckle, he existed the room and headed to see his elder brother, praying that the man had not gone completely off the deep end in the hour since he’d left him.

  
The hallway was eerily quiet, making him even more nervous than if the hallway was filled with flames or shouting. He quickened his pace and pushed the door open to find the doctor astride the Wolf in a rather compromising position, their chests heaving. Averting his eyes, he interjected, “Sorry!” and quickly moved to close the door again.

  
“It’s fine,” Sherlock’s baritone called after him, “We’re done!”

  
Reluctantly, he opened the door again, his eyes downcast as his ears told him that the men were making themselves decent again. “Um…,” he stated, “I’m sorry but I’m not sure this is the best thing for a broken shoulder.”

  
“I was bored.”

  
The statement made him laugh, Sherlock’s rather un-phased face making it all worthwhile. John, pulling his trousers on and climbing off the bed, at least had the decency to blush at being caught. “And John won’t let me use his gun in the house.”

  
“You can’t be putting holes in the walls, Sherlock!” the soldier insisted, standing beside the bed with his arms crossed. “There are people in the next room!”

  
“I wouldn’t have shot them!” the detective interjected haughtily, “I wanted to shoot out the window.”

  
“Where you could hit a pedestrian! Or the PM!” John’s exasperation made him chuckle as he strode towards the bed where his brother lay.

  
“Well,” he handed the other man the hungry Pup, “You won’t be bored for long. He’s antsy and quiet hungry. Have fun!”

  
With that he turned towards the door, needing to see his Mate again, his animalistic urges going against his more rational thought screaming that Imogen needed more rest.

  
“Is Imogen awake?” John’s soft voice asked, making him pause in his steps.

  
Turning back with a smile, he said, “Yes, she is. You should probably take a look at her.”

  
“I’ll come with you,” the doctor said, buckling his belt and planting another kiss on the brunette’s brow. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  
Sherlock waved him away, already fascinated by the month old Pup and his tiny appendages. “Grab my mobile and my measuring stick while you’re out!” the detective called, completely unaware that both items sat on his bedside table.

  
“And with that, we should go,” the soldier stated, waving the other man’s inattention away. “Let’s check on Imogen.”


	50. Chapter 49: The First Pup

_Two Years Later…_

  
She beamed at her fathers from her seat on the expansive lawn. It was the perfect place for a late-spring day like today. The sky was that perfect, peerless blue with thin wisps of cloud making their way across the expanse. The trees had leafed out and the flowers were in full bloom, swaying in the light breeze.

  
Sherlock Holmes, his signature disheveled curls blowing in the fresh air, had his arm wrapped tightly around the broad shoulders of her father, their left hands wrapped around each others, their golden bands flashing in the sunlight. They had been married for almost eighteen months now, and they had lived together for so many years before that, but they still acted like they were young lovers. It was cute, until they forgot about her and she walked in on them in positions that she never wanted to see again. _You would think that someone with advanced senses would be able to tell when someone was coming…_

  
Beside them sat her Aunt Molly, a wide-brimmed hat on her head and her hand on the knee of the man she had married. The man that was currently nose-deep in his mobile, no doubt controlling the Free World as only someone who held a minor position in the British Government could. Lucy and Nathaniel were racing about the paths that surrounded them on their bicycles, dodging their rather mobile younger siblings. Benedict never got close to catching a bike but Thomas, his jaws nipping at the tires, was bound to get hit.

  
“Tom!” her favorite uncle shouted after a too-close-for-comfort miss, waving the natural born Pup back towards the grown-ups. The brown and black pointed ears and tail drooped, not pleased with being reprimanded. Sherrinford, for the time being, was more his parent than his biological set, teaching him how to survive in this new society that her family had created. The world of the Man and the Wolf.

  
Benedict, no doubt sensing his brother’s disappointment, toddled to his side and wrapped his arms around his neck, lips loosely puckering a pressing themselves to the top of the furry head. The action threw them both out of balance and they tumbled into the grass with a giggle and a yip.

  
She smiled thinking about everything that her family had gone through and everything that had advanced the Lupus sapiens to their equality with the normal humans ( _As it always should have been_ ). They were no longer required to Shift at Transitional Facilities, hence why Baskerville had more areas open to the general public than ever before. The original transitional facility had found new life as a museum after the occupants no longer used it as a safe Shift space. Sherrinford was still in charge of the campus but now so much of what her uncle oversaw fell under medical research, creating better Shift delays while still trying to crack the formula that would prevent the spread of Lycanthropy to those that were infected against their will. The giving of care to patients was something that her uncle took very seriously, carrying out his therapy sessions weekly with those that requested it. Some Lupus sapiens still came to Baskerville monthly, whether due to nostalgia or personal comfort, but most remained at home with their friends and family for the Moon, thick leather collars worn when they ventured outside on four legs. The collars served as a means to identify them as human while bearing color-coding that warned whether they were friendly (Blue) or just wanted to be left alone (Red). It allowed them access to public places, though most simply took the freedom to rove the streets and traverse the parks without fear. Wolves were simply who they were. They were no longer seen as terrifying ‘others’ but as _people_ , which was everything her family had wanted and more. Despite being the last to realize Lupus sapiens existed, the UK had the best and most forward-thinking laws regarding the species. And she knew that her family would continue to make it so.

  
The footsteps of her aforementioned favorite uncle, neared and she turned in her seat in the grass to beam up at him. “Hello Uncle Ford! I was wondering when you’d be joining us.”

  
He smiled back, sitting with a long sigh. “I simply needed to take care of a few things first. You know, it’s not easy living in a museum slash research facility.”

  
She laughed, throwing her head back in mirth. “You didn’t _have_ to turn it into a museum.”

  
“And let all this history go to waste? I think not!”

  
Her uncle’s fiancée joined them, easy down beside them with an even bigger sigh than the one her uncle had released. His hands instantly found the small rounding of her stomach, his lips quirking in a gentle, loving smile. “And how are you, Darling?” he asked, his mouth hovering just over hers.

  
“Well, thank you,” she replied, giving him a quick peck before leaning around him to smile at her. “And how are you today, Evy?”

  
“I have no complaints,” she replied, her eyes flicking back to the playing Pup and his twin. “You sure you’re ready for that?” She pointed, teasing. She had known for some time that her uncle had desperately wanted his own Pups. She had been a surrogate, of sorts, for a while now. And with Thomas, well, he was more than ready.

  
“We’ll be fine,” her ex-teacher said confidently, leaning her head into her uncle’s broad shoulder. “They’ll grow up faster than we’ve ever imagined anyway.”

  
“Have you _met_ Sherlock?” she asked, laughing.

  
“I take offense to that, young lady!” her second father retorted, even as her dad laughed. The younger man growled, playfully nipping at his Mate’s neck to show his displeasure.

  
“Stop that, Sherlock!” the doctor giggled like a school girl, “We’re here to enjoy the evening with our family.”

  
The brunette rolled his eyes and released a rather adolescent huff. _Yup, an over-grown child._

  
“I think the question is: does your family want to enjoy an evening with you?” Mycroft retorted, earning him a sharp growl and a rumble of laughter.

  
Needing to dissipate some of the tension, the Alpha of Baskerville sprang into the conversation/growling match. “We don’t need to antagonize one another. Please. Can’t we simply enjoy the now?” Sherrinford smiled secretively, his gaze shifting to his Mate. “How about you, Imogen?”

  
The woman smiled, still rubbing her stomach even as her hand came up to rub her neck. Unlike her own father, who had decided against being Turned and had continuously insisted that she not get Bitten at all, her former teacher had taken a Mate Mark and become a Turned Lupus sapiens as soon as she had been cleared of all charges. She had been the first to complete (and help perfect) the process of becoming a Lupus sapiens, though she had insisted on being Bitten instead of injected with venom.

  
The family members that had tried to kill her Mate had all been imprisoned for a long time, with condemning evidence found on all of their properties. Despite being revealed as murderers, they had all backed her great-uncle, who disowned her for loving ‘an animal.’ Her brother, Frederick, had been the killer Sherlock had hunted, falling into the height requirement and the man kept a green house with mistletoe and wolfsbane among it’s occupants. He would never see the light of day again.

  
Imogen had taken it all well (As far as she could tell), though she was sure that her Uncle Ford helped. She had forsaken her family and her very name to stand beside the man that she loved more than anything. Their love for each other was so evident and so incredibly cute that she hoped to find someone who loved her that way. Their six month anniversary as a couple had been marked by the significant bonding experience that had resulted in a small, slim, ebony werewolf with bright green eyes that stuck to her lover’s auburn side like a bur. This, of course, meant that the baby she was carrying was going to be a natural born Wolf, like his or her father.

  
“So long as the little one is not acting up, I’d love a run!” the teacher replied, holding a hand out to the arriving Thomas and Benedict, letting the Pup snuffle her fingers before he placed his head eagerly beneath her hand, ready for a pat. His twin, not to be outdone, wrapped his arms around her neck and gave her a sloppy kiss on the cheek before moving on to climb over Sherrinford and onto her lap.

  
“Hello Benny! How are you?” she exclaimed, tickling the little boy. He giggled excitedly, his limbs thrashing.

  
“Good! Good! Evy….stop!” The little ginger boy’s face was turning beet red, so she stopped, blowing a raspberry on his stomach before relaxing and leaning back on her forearms.

  
The backdrop of Baskerville, with the line of tourists that trekked through the old buildings where Sherlock had first transformed and Sherrinford had taken his stand after his public Shift at Parliament, was almost romantic at this point in her life. So many important things had happened there. Her uncle and her soon-to-be-aunt were living there, along with their charge, her cousin Tom, and she came and went as she pleased. They had a guest room just for her, which she greatly appreciated, and Sherrinford had promised her an internship once she was in uni in a year or two. Unlike her father, he understood her fascination with the Lupus sapiens and he understood that she wanted to help them, and, maybe one day, in the future, go through the process to join them. Started by her soon-to-be aunt and approved by her fiancé, the process was similar the process that those who are transgender undergo., Those who desired to be ‘Bitten’ had to undergo several doctor visits and therapy sessions to be sure that they understood the risks and never lost their want of the end result. Once they were approved by the experts, they would receive an injection of venom (extracted through a rather painful process from her favorite uncle’s salivary glands) under the light of the following Full Moon. Over the last eighteen months, after Imogen Crowley became the first of the next generation of Turned Wolves, there had been a total of ninety-seven individuals who had joined the Lupus sapiens ranks.

  
_It was funny how things turned out_ , Evelyn reflected with a smile, pulling Benedict close with a smile.

  
Sherrinford, knowing her better than anyone else, gave her a small nudge. “Just because our family is growing, it doesn’t mean that we don’t love you, Evy. You will always be my favorite niece.”

  
She laughed, giving him a gentle kiss on the cheek. “I know. I’m not worried.”  
_ _ _ _ _

  
The sunset was the perfect backdrop for their late game of fetch. She’d brought a whole bag of tennis balls, all of which would be demolished in less than an hour. Thomas, who spent more of his life as a Pup than as a human, came galavanting out of the building first, chasing circles around a tall auburn Wolf and a short but lithe ebony Wolf, their bodies so close together that she wasn’t entirely sure when one ended and the other began. Her father and Sherlock followed them, the dark brown Wolf pressed against her father’s side possessively.

  
“COME ON!” she called, urging them forward with a wide wave of her arm. The guards behind her snorted, no doubt rolling their eyes at the display. They were used to it, but her undying enthusiasm seemed to constantly bring them joy and exasperation.

  
As Sherrinford and his family arrived, one of the guards said, “It’s great to see you, Dr. Holmes, Ms. Crowley, Tommy.”

  
His greeting was met with a chorus of yips and yaps, wagging tails and lolling tongues. Sherrinford, being the exact same regardless of his shape, thrust his head beneath the man’s outstretched hand. The guard gave the leading researcher of Lupus sapiens a good ear scratching, a grin on both of their faces.

  
Her young cousin jumped up on the other one, earning him a sharp growl from his uncle. Cowed, the Pup dropped to the ground, his ears pressed to his wedge-shaped skull, whining apologetically. Ms. Crowley ( _Aunt Immy?_ ) gave the poor toddler a tender lick on his jowl, comforting him. Sherrinford nudged him, urging him to greet the guards again, in a more appropriate manner. Hesitantly, the Pup put his head beneath the guard’s waiting hand, his forepaw rising to bat at the man’s pant leg. His blue eye remained on Sherrinford, his quasi-guardian, practically begging for his praise. Their uncle didn’t disappoint, breaking into a wide grin, his tongue lolling out.

  
Her ex-teacher (now the curator at the Baskerville museum), moved closer to her, smiling broadly, her stomach swinging awkwardly with the puppy weight. Unable to stop herself, she offered a hand to the woman who eagerly placed her head beneath it, her eyes dancing.  
As she idly scratched the woman’s ears, she greeted her fathers with hugs. Sherlock, always more emotional in this form, nuzzled her happily, his tongue bathing her cheeks. Her father pressed a kiss to her head as her second father began rooting through her bag, getting his slobber over everything. “Sherlock!” she hissed, closing the bag on his nose while grabbing a moist ball with her left hand. “Go get it!”

  
The dark brown Wolf was off like a shot, joined by his nephew in their chase across the moor and out of the facility. Her soon-to-be aunt took a few awkward running steps before thinking better of it and looping back to walk with the mere mortals and the Alpha of Baskerville.

  
It was the perfect night, the three-quarter moon lighting their way, the stars twinkling above them. The wolves raced among the weeds and stones, leaving her with her father and Imogen for a bit only to return with dead rabbits, one for each of them, even if the two humans were not going to eat them. Her dad took two of the hares graciously as the Lupus sapiens dug in. Sherlock made sure that Thomas ate slowly, not needing him to get sick when (and if) he Shifted back (a rather common occurrence). His two year old stomach was not adapted well enough to fully digest raw meat and viscera just yet.

  
On the other hand, her uncle was continuously checking on his Mate. He nuzzled her, sniffing her all over between bites of his own. He allowed her to take some of his bunny when she asked for it, licking his muzzle tenderly in thanks.

  
She sat beside her father, her head leaning against his shoulder. “They’re so cute,” she breathed, smiling softly at the little Pack but especially at her uncle and his fiancée. “Don’t you just love being here, Dad?”

  
The older man nodded, knowingly. “We’ve been quite lucky, haven’t we, Evelyn?” Pressing a kiss to her temple, the man wrapped her into a side hug, surrounding her with love. John Watson was right. She was incredibly lucky and for that, she would be eternally grateful.

 

 

  
The End

 

 

 

  
Or is it?


End file.
